A Life Offered
by cloogle
Summary: Hermione and Ginny are not the best of friends; in fact, to Hermione, Ginny is all but a distant memory. Reunited when a dark magic book brings back a long forgotten set of mystical beings, they have to face what they really mean to each other. Will it tear them apart or bring them closer? Femslash. Angst. Mistrust. Post Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters are the property of JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

Note: Post DH. Contains spoilers. Started this five+ years ago and thought I owed it to myself to finish it.

Reposted because the last upload completely lost all italics.

* * *

**One Hundred and Three Years Ago - 14th April 1897**

"I can hear them," came the fear-stricken, strained cry from the elderly man's throat. "It is time. I never thought... I never dreamt..." Malvence trailed off, gripping his daughter's wrist tightly and frantically glancing about with eyes long blind.

Patricia frowned with sweet concern, placing a comforting hand gently upon his chest and easing free the other from his desperate, pinching grasp. "Calm yourself, Father; it's your heartbeat you hear, nothing more." Moving away to sweep wrinkles from the blanket at the foot of the bed, she looked across at him, smiling forlornly. "You're weak enough as it is; don't be scaring yourself."

Shuffling back against the hard metal frame of his bedstead, Malvence stared in the direction of the large, light-filled windows that graced the south wall of his bed chamber, feeling the mild breeze tickle his paper-thin skin. "My dearest child," he uttered with notes of pleading, reaching to scratch unsuccessfully for his wand on the bedside table, cleanly knocking a drinking cup to the floor. "I have done wrong by you and they are due." He began to weep, chest sagging with regret.

"What is this nonsense?" Patricia cooed sweetly, rushing forward to use her thumbs to wipe tears from Malvence's sunken, sallow cheeks. "What haunts you, Father?"

"Just go. Go before _they_ find you," he attempted to shout, his voice restrained by the weakness of his own frail body.

"I'll do no such thing," she dismissed, moving away to crouch and carefully soak up the water bleeding its way across the uneven floor. "Now close your eyes and try to sleep. Don't let these images taint your thoughts. All will be well."

Malvence reached out sharply towards her voice, fingers splayed and extended, clutching emptily at the air. The noise that echoed in his ears was growing louder: an unearthly slam of a hundred footsteps echoing upon a hardened floor. "Understand, Patricia. Please. _Leave_," he bellowed, frustrated by the immobility of his unwieldy limbs that clung to the mattress as if sewn in place. Without warning, the sound stopped abruptly, swallowed by silence and leaving only the fain, ocean-like hush from the blood rushing through his ears. An eerie calm fell.

A piercing flash of unbearably bright light gave Malvence renewed sight as hot, painful bursts of vigor ran through him, slicing through his torso like a blade plunged repeatedly from sternum to spine. Muscles and bones regenerated unnaturally, twisting and swelling into place. With new vision, he examined his now smooth, unblemished hands and - as the wardrobe door swung lazily shut - the tall mirror's reflection revealed not simply a younger version of himself, but his actual self of thirty years, clothed as once he was on that fateful day. He blinked, unbelieving. For forty years he had lived a half-life, a watched life. It was finally time for the consequence of his actions to play out, for his debt to be paid. Patricia - unwittingly continuing her chores - looked over, not seeing the change in him nor hearing his calls to flee.

Like a slap to the auditory senses, the stomp of hard leather on slate began again. Malvence, utterly sickened by his failings, attempted to cover his ears, but it did not block a single note of that rising crescendo. Dread filled his youthful body, stale air rising in his throat. "I gambled with an empty promise," he blurted loudly. "I did not know she existed," he screeched. Before his eyes, his adult daughter changed: an infant again, all giggles and playfulness. "I offered your life never knowing you were mine," he called to her ruefully, his movement increasingly restricted, bound by the blankets and sheets of his deathbed. Frozen, he watched helpless as they happened upon Patricia, dragging her tiny, silently-screaming form from the room. "I am so -" the disordered cacophony of footsteps once again grew steadily quieter "- sorry."

She was gone and at last, with tears wetting his full, flush cheeks, Malvence breathed his final breath.

* * *

**21st November 2000**

"Good morning, Miss Granger." Bertram Styles, Hermione's direct superior and a muggle-born like herself, chirruped happily as he galloped into view from behind the fountain. "How are we today?"

"I..." He had caught her off guard, stealing not only her intent thoughts, but also the breath she was about to take. Looking up at his tall frame, she swallowed hard, hand still at her throat in surprise. "I didn't see you there. I'm perfectly well. Thank you."

His well-polished shoes tapped merrily and - in Hermione's opinion - unnecessarily loudly on the polished Atrium floor. "I'd very much like to have those reports by end of day if that's at all possible." He smiled ingratiatingly, raising himself onto his toes, a hopeful glint in his eye.

Such a striking similarity to her primary school teacher; Hermione could not help but be ever so slightly irked by him. "Not a problem. I'll be sure to have them to you today," she replied, clumsily faltering over the words as he loomed over her like a thick tree branch obscuring the sun. Waving behind her to indicate 'other places to be', Hermione muttered: "I'd best get on." And so, with a small, gracious bow, Styles let her be and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

The morning's workers - all of whom were heatedly discussing business or chatting cordially about recent news and the frightful weather - seemed to Hermione like a herd of livestock. With irritation, she weaved her way through the throng, papers clutched firmly to her chest and head dipped down to avoid further undesired conversations. Periodically, the fireplaces lining the Atrium's walls bellowed plumes of soot, coughing up further figures into her path. Little would get in her way, but one yelp - audible above the general hubbub - did stop her in her tracks.

A particularly loose-limbed young witch had careened out of a hearth on the far side, sending one shoe and two bags skittering along the polished floor. Between a wall of shoulders, Hermione could see the woman's flapping arms as colleagues gathered keenly to assist. Slipping under the trampling feet of those called to aid came a book which spun to a stop at Hermione's feet. Without a second look, she swiftly tapped it with her shoe to extinguish a flicker of green flame and - with a good nudging kick and a low growl - slid the book back through the cloaked crowd which now resembled a wake of bobbing vultures. "Any further distractions?" she bemoaned in a low hiss.

* * *

Hermione sighed, casually cast _Incendio_ at the fire and sat down in her plush, green office chair, cringing inwardly at the loud creak it produced. Despite numerous spells the sound had remained, much to her frustration and annoyance. It had, she surmised, been cursed by its previous owner after he was asked to leave, having taken a number of backhanders from undesirables. _I suppose,_ she thought, _there are some things that can never be changed_.

She felt out of sorts and agitated, inexplicably saddened even. Uncharacteristically, she had no desire to be at the Ministry. Despite what she had told Styles, all her were assignments were complete. A niggling itch in her stomach was telling her to venture out. _But where?_ she mused momentarily before shaking away the thought. Drawing herself up primly, she glanced at a photograph of the Weasley brothers together with Harry all laughing and waving, then to another, a static one, of her parents posed in front of their practice. Two lives; everything could have been so different.

Whilst worrying at a scuff mark on her desk, Hermione heard a scrabbling knock at the door. "Come," she called, squaring all the items before her and pushing the picture frames together neatly. The door slid open a crack and in floated a cream-coloured internal memo; it settled happily on her open palm, nuzzling affectionately at her thumb. She ran a finger down its smooth paper spine and the note uncreased itself, laying itself open to be read.

* * *

Seventy-four red-brick chimney stacks rise into smoggy skies, atop which formations of clay pots exhale plumes of smoke from numerous offices far below. Beyond, a flattened area provides a platform for twenty-four hefty, cast-iron tubes that periodically spit electric-green flame. Further still, a ginormous oxidised-copper funnel, open skywards, provides an entrance to the Ministry that no self-respecting witch or wizard would _ever_ use. Gaggles of owls and, on occasion, a fwooper, coo and hop along the perimeter, politely queuing themselves, watched intently by London's bemused pigeons.

One by one the birds topple gracefully in, making their descent into its depths. The route, which is pitch black and full of heart-stopping drops, terminates above something akin to a conventional conveyor belt. Once there, postal workers detach letters, packages and newspapers before ushering the animals further along the line to receive a treat while a delivery receipt is bound to an extended leg. Job complete, the feathered or, very occasionally, scaly friend hops up a south-exiting funnel where they are pelted into the air like shot from a cannon.

It has never occurred to the muggle population that it is odd for a roof to hang so improbably, let alone for congregations of birds to fly in one side and out the other. But then why should they? They cannot see it. Similarly, the luscious park that covers the area above the below-ground rooms of the Ministry of Magic, shaded by the roof, is no more there or not there than the magic used to create it. One or two non-wizarding folk have, on occasion, spotted the area and thought it ideal for a picnic but, thanks to an apathy charm, on approach it would seem less and less ideal for eating sandwiches. Hermione Granger, however, often eats her sandwiches there.

The main entrance to the Ministry headquarters - and there did exist such a doorway - was a grand affair with a set of elaborate, gilt-tipped iron gates, polished stone arched windows, and a beautiful hexagonal foyer where staircases weaved away from each edge. All the upper levels, including the entrance, were destroyed in a blast from a buzz bomb during World War Two; disillusionment charms disrupted, muggles could see the building for what it truly was.

And so - in order to retain the hidden nature of the Ministry from the general populous without the need to doctor London's water supply with a memory-amending tonic - it was decided that the upper floors would not be rebuilt. After much debate an architect was tasked with the restructuring of the roof and chimneys in order to vent smoke and allow aerial entrance for carrier owls. To the surprise of many, being that he was not only a logical man but also a traditionalist he - and quite rightly so said some of his peers - built the roof at the exact same height it had previously resided: one hunded and eighty seven feet above ground level.

This, as Hermione's memo informed her, was her required destination.

* * *

Unfamiliar with the new system of collections, Hermione sought guidance from a colleague and promptly took the service elevator: a machine not unlike an oversized dumbwaiter being no more than four feet in height, and unique in that it was the only lift to ascend to level zero. When at last it came to an unnervingly jerky stop, Hermione pulled the plain metal grill aside and gladly exited the cramped space. Entering the long triangular corridor, she headed into the post room, her burnished shoes shifting feathers and mess as she went.

Over the dull creak of cogs and gears, twit-twooing and the flap of wings, Hermione called through to a pair of stooped workers and waved meekly. "Hello?"

"Good day," they replied in unison without missing a beat or beak.

"Shall I just collect my package, then?" Much to her chagrin, there came no response to her eager, directional pointing. With a peeved shrug and huffing breath, Hermione drew out the memo and tapped its centre with her fingertip. Re-forming into its original, aerodynamic shape, it pressed down what can only be described as its waggling bottom, and took flight. For a while it hovered as if pausing to consider the surroundings before darting back and forth along the shelves of parcels, letters and random oddments. Hermione crossed her arms impatiently, pulling fluffy, white feathers from her elbows as she paced back and forth.

A bright, blaze of light across her wrist pulled her attention up. The adjacent room, she noted while peering through the doorway, had several windows: the only _real_ windows at the Headquarters. Momentarily entranced by the sight, she glanced out across the rooftops of London and exhaled slowly. The sky was a murky grey, but persistent sunlight streamed through the fuliginous clouds in an aesthetically pleasing way. Again Hermione's heart was drawn to something, but to what she could not discern: the desire was so intangible, the ache so lingering. Abruptly, her attention was pulled away as the memo audibly ceased flapping. Instead it crumpled its nose as if sniffing the air, floating like a hummingbird, then pointed its wing in the direction of a moderately-sized package some way off in the corner.

The box would not budge and the frantic, but disturbingly mute, colleagues, did not catch Hermione's attempts at coughing for attention. "Excuse ..." she began, but thought better of it when she spotted the memo impetuously batting its head against an old oak sign inlaid with gold script. It read: _'Note the gold plate beneath your package; please tap three times with your wand for identification purposes.'_ She did as instructed and instantly her name etched itself in tiny copperplate lettering upon the plaque. This resulted in a squeak as the sticking charm released its effect. Lifting the box down, she tucked it under her arm. Reverently, the paper aeroplane gave a little bow, followed by the casual wave of a wing, before happily weaving its way out of the room.

"Thanks," she called out to the postal workers, so as not to appear rude, although she considered them to be exactly that. Turning to the exit she noticed a piece of parchment on the floor that must have floated from the door. In small, neat lettering, it read: _'The new_ _'Penge & Felliece Plunge and Pulley Porter System' is due by the end of the week.'_ Then, in larger, more astonishing hastily-written ink, clearly added later by a careless hand: _'Anyone wishing to make a complaint about collecting their own parcels should please address them to Ms H. J. Granger, Office 212.'_ Hermione rolled her eyes.

Naturally, it had been her own campaign for creature freedom that instigated the law change. She had seen a wrong and she had righted it. Her strong arguments and history consequently led to her current position in Magical Law Enforcement. That and the fact that an office came free. Plenty welcomed her, but a few still viewed her as an activist and troublemaker. Crushing the note in her hand, she threw it subversively into an empty shelf nook. Feeling a slight upsurge in happiness thanks to her dalliance in misconduct, she headed back to her office wondering what her package was and who it was from.

* * *

She eyed the wrapping carefully. In the past, illegal magical items had been sent to the Ministry to trace the makers. However, at first glance, this was not official looking. In fact, it was so haphazardly wrapped she decided it was probably parcelled up by someone whose mind was not completely on the task. She sat back in her chair, hands clasped on the desk before her. The ebb and flow of floating pink and yellow stars dotted around the knot of twine gave further hints to the sender's identity. Not fearing it to be dangerous, Hermione unravelled the ties, pulled away the paper, opened the box and peeked inside.

Contained therein was a simple flower, shape not dissimilar to an orchid, mottled pink and with leaves likened to those found on celery. Extracting it carefully, she placed the plant on the table. Attached to the small, blue, sand-filled pot which held it upright was a note that read: 'Kulak asmak'. _That's a bit Alice in Wonderland. _"Kulak asmak?" she whispered to herself as she mused over the meaning. Within an instant, a voice drifted dreamily from the the centre of the tube-like stamen, which moved as though the flower itself were speaking.

"I decided you might be down," it seemed to say. Hermione's throat let out an involuntary, curious giggle. "So I thought I'd send you this gift to lighten your day." It spoke with Luna Lovegood's calm Irish tones. "It's a clever little thing and somehow can record a person talking, and then play it back." The leaves moved back and forth as if gesturing languidly along with the speech. "Probably just a miscast recording enchantment, but I like it all the same." The flower appeared to muse to itself for a while, staring at the ceiling. "Well... that's all. Send our love to... to everyone. And remember that you are loved."

Hermione was touched. As she went to pick up the flower it sprang back into life, frantically waved a leaf and announced: "I don't need watering often as I come from arid climes." The voice belonged to Rolf Scamander. Hermione smirked and placed the pot on the ledge next to her window, which today was displaying a post-drizzle rainbow. A feeling of optimism spread like a warmth through her body as she sat back with arms crossed, observing as the flower began to shake gently, raising a leaf to touch its own stem as if it were clutching its heart. At that moment, another knock came at the door and the flora import legislation suddenly jumped directly to the forefront of Hermione's mind. She bit her lip, bundled the flower into her desk drawer and pushed the box to one side. Putting on a large fake smile, she called for her visitor: "Come."

"Miss Granger, good to see you looking bright-eyed and keen." Styles closed the door behind him. Hermione felt obliged to retain her wide grin as he spoke, despite the struggle to do so. "We've got a little job for you. You can leave what you're working on at the moment."

"I've finished, actually," she responded tersely, through clenched teeth.

"All the better, then. We've had reports of a particular dark magic book. It really needs to be in our restricted library, away from curious eyes."

An opportunity. A challenge. She was ready to dig her heels in without another word and had already begun making multiple notes. "Title?"

"The spine of the codex is alas untitled, but it is known in certain circles as 'Ecce signum'."

"Author?" She bit her lip as she dipped for more ink to continue composing a course of action.

"Compilers. Here is a list of known contributors." He passed over a piece of parchment, which Hermione unfurled to read.

She narrowed her eyes, the smile now both completely forgotten and absent. "Where was it last seen?"

"Abbeysim Alley. Do you know it?"

"Naturally."

"Rumour has it that it has been seen in a particular book shop." He turned away from her and strolled about the room.

"And by rumour... ?" She shook her head expectantly.

"We have a few loyal locals who keep us informed about the shadier side of Charing Cross Road," he admitted.

"I see."

"If you find the book, you are to bring it here directly."

Hermione nodded. "I will retrieve it."

* * *

Deciding that perhaps speed was of the essence, combined with a desire to meet the exacting standards of her employers, Hermione took the Floo Network directly to the Leaky Cauldron. Despite the early hour, there were still many a witch and wizard partaking of alcohol on this cold autumnal morning; all slumped over the tables as if heavy burdens weighed cruelly upon their tired shoulders. Pulling her scarf further up over her chin, Hermione quickly weaved her way between uneven tables, wonky stool legs and one actual wooden leg, before finally stepping into the brisk, chilly air that immediately stung her cheeks and caused her to wince reflexively.

Diagon Alley itself seemed strangely quiet, with barely a soul or two wandering through the low-hanging mist. Walking past the ice-cream parlour, Hermione allowed herself a few seconds to peer through the window; she could not help but watch Florean Fortesque, the eponymous owner, juggle jars of sprinkles and sweets for the entertainment of his wife. Hermione smiled to herself nostalgically as she stepped away, leaving a simple handprint in the glaze of vapor upon the glass. The heels of her shoes smacked against the cobbles as she quickly took the turning into Knockturn Alley. Suddenly she stopped hard, almost rocking on the spot.

So many people. The sheer number could not have been predicted considering that the hushed, clandestine chatter - like gusts of wind teasing dry, dead leaves - was all that was audible from neighbouring areas. Hermione steeled herself and took a deep breath; cold air rushed against her front teeth. She shivered hard. Head down and cloak hood pulled up, she concentrated intensely on her journey, avoiding eye contact with any and all. Nevertheless, they sloped in to surround her like unfriendly ghosts emerging through walls to float at her back and whisper sinister sentiments that she truly did not wish to hear. Every step seemed to gather more and more eager bodies at her side and impede her step.

Steadily, as time wore on and the distance increased, her firm disinterest became tiresome as bids to sell poison-thorned flowers and ornately-carved knives were studiously ignored. One by one, the hawkers regressed back into the shadows as if confined to their patch of street by an invisible, retracting tether. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when the end of the street came in sight. Its position at the bottom of the slope meant the rain from the previous night had pooled there and soon the hems of her trousers were damp, but she paid no care. Rubbing her gloved hands together, she looked up and down the narrow Dickensian walkway of Abbeysim Alley where three-storey-high buildings seemed to arch towards each other, blocking the sky's light.

Hermione felt as though every window had someone behind its murky glass, looking out, spying on her. She might well have been right; it was that sort of street.

* * *

A bell tinkled with a dull echo as Hermione pushed open the door to the simply-named 'Palimpsest's Books and Memorabilia': a tenebrous, cavernous place, walled with shelf upon shelf of tattered, shabby-looking volumes that extended all the way into the rafters of its peaked roof. _What a library this would make,_ Hermione fantasised, hungering for the ability to sign an order for all stock to be transported to the Ministry for personal perusal. Her eyes became drawn to a secreted corner, where stood a curtained doorway over which a sign read: 'Portraits and Photographs'; she could not help but envisage the gallery of dark wizards that might lay therein.

There was but one other customer, who failed to acknowledge her entrance, being head deep in an extensive and lengthy work. With a sound not unlike a distressed cricket, a bibliograp - a bat-like book fetcher - began to flutter around Hermione's head like a broken umbrella caught in the wind. Its pincer-like arms pulled and nipped at her sleeve. With agitation, she wafted it away, threatening it with her wand and a pursed-lipped expression of distaste.

"My good lady," came a croaking voice from behind the counter.

Hermione could not help but jump with fright, then scolded herself for not appearing dauntless. "Good day." She had not even noticed the shopkeeper standing perfectly upright, cast in shadow, dressed all in black with a pale, grey-bearded face. This, she decided, was the man she would have to convince. _He probably has the book in a locked cabinet in a locked cellar in a locked room_."I was wondering." Not wanting to give off any ministerial impression, she spoke as loosely and carelessly as she could manage, which wasn't very much at all. "Have you any books containing contributions by... Aldous Sumner?" She added a knowing wink.

"I really couldn't say, Madam," he replied, perfectly still. His lips, it seemed, had barely moved. If at all.

"Perhaps, then, Constantine Danté?" she asked, staring into his unblinking, polished-stone eyes, unsure how to imply that she wasn't simply a dark arts dilettante apart from squinting with one eye and hunching her shoulders.

"I really couldn't say, Madam."

She raised a finger. "Let me check my list for other..." She went to draw the instructional parchment from her bag.

"I really couldn't say, Madam," he continued to reply, a breeze of air enlivening a candle flame and throwing the defined lines of his cheeks into sharp contrast.

Hermione paused to eyed him curiously. "Are you... _in_ today?" she said, presuming that his mind might have left for a while, leaving his body with a few key phrases.

"I really couldn't say, Madam."

"Buggeration," she cursed under her breath, her spine straightening..

"Language, Madam," he said curtly.

"Ahem," she coughed. "Could you please tell me if you have the book better known as Ecce Signum?" she asked, re-hunching, assuming that the mind had returned.

"I really couldn't say, Madam."

"Damn it."

"Language, Madam."

"Why not hang a message on the door saying 'back in ten minutes'?" Hermione seethed. Pouting with frustration, she turned and suddenly remembered there was someone else in the shop. Currently, they were to be found peering through the curtained corner door, face shadowed by the hood of their cloak. "Excuse me," she said cautiously. "Do you happen to know whether Mr Palimpsest is out temporarily?" The figure, reluctant for communication, gave a faint non-committal grunt.

_Rude._ Hermione frowned. She had already brought too much attention to herself and so she promptly left, the bell jangling behind her.

* * *

Drearily, Hermione traipsed through the Atrium having made the decision to visit Styles in order to press him for the name of his informant. She came to stop at the Ministry's notice wall. Here a parchment-coloured Ministry map stretches its way across the glazed brick wall, where perfectly-shaped watercolour shades blink on and off as rooms become occupied or vacant. Hermione noted the particular hot red of her superior's office indicating the presence of two people. Her body sagged with disappointment; she would have to wait. But the pale-blue wash of a non-Ministry person caught her attention. She double checked that her eyes were not playing tricks on her; they weren't: it was definitely her office and the the light was flickering furiously, indicating movement. Hastily, she made her way to the elevators, tapping her wrist impatiently as she considered who her visitor might be. Or, for that matter, her intruder.

* * *

Rushing down the corridor, Hermione wondered who might be waiting for her arrival; perhaps a Hogwarts alumni or muggle representative. In her mind's eye, many faces flew by in consideration. Many would be well received; some not. At her door, she caught her breath and checked that her clothes were in order. In the most nonchalant manner she could muster, presuming the visitor would assume themselves to be a surprise, she let herself in.

"Hermione?" came a familiar voice from the winged chair beside the crackling fire.

A hand flying to her chest and air catching in her throat, Hermione croaked huskily: "Ginny!"

* * *

Ginny Weasley stood up to casually lean against the mantel piece. She looked exactly how Hermione remembered, though a little more world-weary with longer hair and, perhaps, more beautiful. _Yes, more beautiful._ Hermione attempted not to glance up and down, or dwell on how much she wished to drag her once-close friend into an excessively-tight, breathless hug. It was too late anyhow; the argument had already begun. "I haven'tseen you in what feels like forever and you just... turn up," she commented, crossing her arms and looking more than a little disgruntled.

"Oh, come on," Ginny protested weakly. "Give me a little credit, if you'd listen-"

"Look, I don't mean to be ratty -" Hermione dismissed through gritted teeth, old wounds still smarting "- but I've got a stressful case on and I'm looking for this book which is going to be damned near impossible to get hold of." With this, Hermione picked up her assignment and began waving the large piece of parchment briskly, accidentally fanning the fire's flames and wafting at Ginny's hair: the effect of both was enlivening. Hermione blinked, attempting to gather her thoughts, but she was already side-tracked by the blushing heat that was slipping up her throat and tightening her slack jaw. "This is an _entirely_ bad time for any sort of reconciliation between us."

Ginny closed her eyes and scratched absently at her temple. "What if I lead you to the book you're after?"

"I _hardly_ think that you would possess that kind of knowledge." The bite of her words was intended, but belittling Ginny left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The response came quite undeterred. "Well... what's it called?"

"I..." Hermione noticed a twinkle in Ginny's eye; a sparkle of alluring self-confidence that seemed to set the world on an uneven tilt. "Um, that's just it, it's not exactly _called_ anything, rather _known_ as..." Words faded as, like a waiter revealing the main course, Ginny retrieved and pulled open her shoulder bag to display the contents. Along the spine, Hermione spotted a few familiar surnames. Mouth agape, she pointed inside. "Why do you have this?" Her cheek twitched as she took a leadened, uncertain breath. "What are you mixed up in?"

With a dismissive shake of her head, Ginny looked down at the volume as if it were as insignificant as a lump of bread. "I'm not mixed up in anything. I just want to help." She walked away to plonk the bag squarely onto the desk with a thump.

Hermione strained hard against a smile that was so very near to forming on her lips. "Where did you find it?" she inquired, following to intently study the cover, twinges of excitement tickling her pulse. It seemed all too incredible. Too easy. Suspicious even.

"Does it matter?"

It mattered. "How did you even know I was looking for it?" Just one straight answer. That was all Hermione desired. Something concrete to cling to. A fact on which she could rely.

"A little bird told me," Ginny replied enigmatically, turning to perch on the edge of the desk. "Look, you've got the thing now. I thought I might be able to drag you away from work for a while."

_I don't even know who you are these days._ Hermione brought two knuckles to her mouth and glanced at the blazing fire, desperate for inspiration in the glowing embers. "I couldn't possibly. Whoever had this might've been up to no good. Therefore I simply feel duty bound to investigate."

"Sounds like an excuse not to spend time with me." Ginny looked at her hands, her shoulders sagging with disappointment.

"Don't be silly." Pressing the back of her hand to each warm cheek in turn, Hermione sat down. The chair gave its customary squeak as she leant back. "Perhaps -" she sighed through a wince, contemplating her own inability to admit the desperate self-inflicted pain suffered at the hands of Ginny's absence from her life "- you could help me investigate."

* * *

Unannounced, Ambra Faulken flounced in through the ajar door. It was clear from her charcoal-dusted, frayed skirt that she had been the victim of the slippery floo dismount that morning. "Coo-ee, only me," she trilled, serving only to emphasise her Scottish accent. "Styles wanted to know if you've had any luck with the book doo-dah."

Hermione immediately rose and paced around to the front of her desk to obscure what was on it. "'Fraid not, Ambra." She scrunched up her nose and tried to look apologetic. "I'll need to take a few days to track it down."

"Oh!" Ambra's attention was caught by the presence of Ginny, with whom she held eye contact while addressing Hermione. "No problem. I'll let him know. You... take care, Herm'ne." First frowning, she shook her head. "Gin, you didn't say you'd...? I mean... what?" She looked utterly bemused, but then simply shrugged it off, unsurely adding: "Remind me and I'll... give you back those earrings you lent me."

"Don't worry about it," Ginny calmly replied with a wave of her hand. "Whenever is fine."

Ambra pointed from one woman to the other, a large grin emerging on her soot-streaked face. "So... are you two okay again, then?"

"Any differences that Ginny and I may have had are in the past," Hermione said sternly.

Ambra raised her hands submissively. "Ignore me. Good luck with finding the book." She winked as she turned and - had Ginny not jumped up and lunged for the knob to yank the door wider - she would have walked directly into the edge. A sheet of paperwork fluttered to the floor as she obliviously swept her way down the corridor, leading Ginny to retrieve it and go after her, thus leaving Hermione quite alone with her thoughts... and the book.

She turned to the bag and peered in. Swathed around the book was a well-worn cricket jumper. _Presumably a gift from Arthur; bless his muggle-loving cotton socks_. Extracting it, she immediately drew it to her nose and snuggled the soft, knitted fabric. The delightful scent brought sparks of sorrow that pricked at Hermione's heart in the most unexpectedly saddening way. Almost as quickly as she had picked up the jumper, she had placed it mournfully to one side, startled by her own mawkish behaviour. For a second more she picked her way through Ginny's things, rumbling her fingers over a hairbrush, nail varnish, a random assortment of loose coins, a small corked bottle, house keys, and a book sealed in a paper bag, all the while wondering about Ginny's life of late.

Hermione's focus fell back to the target of her cut-short search: this large and mysterious enchiridion of sorts. Being a person for whom books carried much pleasure, Hermione was mortified by the distinct feeling of repulsion towards this one. It was as though evil seeped from its mottled pages, and that touching it might cause her hand to become infected with wickedness. Equally, like a piece of rotten fruit or corrupted mind, there was also a great sense of loss; such potential tainted and poisoned by dark intents. Hermione drew out her wand and levitated the book into a tilted reading position.

The cover - formed from beaten leather - was so pure in its sheen that it must, she decided, have been flayed from a magical creature. Her heart sank fast, but its beat quickened. With a sharp flick, she turned to the title page causing the spine to crack with a sound as unnerving as a drawn-out bone fracture. Clenching her teeth, she concentrated hard and swallowed her fear. The insignia borne by the front board was printed here too, but this time in gut-wrenching clarity: a scene of carnage, the topmost victim a doe-eyed unicorn with blood seeping from its lifeless, viscerated body. As Hermione studied the emblem, she noticed the jet black ink flowing, gently pumping and oozing from each animal depicted, gradually pooling and soaking into the base of the page. Swiftly, she moved on.

_A_ _beginners' guide to prolonging life_, Hermione surmised upon touchlessly turning the pages and scrutinising the list of contents. Chapter one promised the methods for extracting the remaining life force from arboreal plants. Simple enough. Chapter two was a lengthy guide on the use of the elements for capture and containment of parasites, and the subsequent reversal of their interactions on humans. This all seemed reasonable; fairly condonable. However, as her eyes scanned down the list, Hermione felt a lump form in her throat. The methods grew increasingly pernicious in their intent; coldly encouraging the mindless torture of animals and humans alike for self-gain. Sadism and murder by textbook.

Unblinking, she felt drawn to the iniquitous words; urged to read on and consume the unconscionable directions. _Just a chapter or two_, she thought, as is her nature. _Just a - _Dullfootsteps behind her awoke Hermione from her trance. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she snapped the book shut with a resolute movement of her wand and spun on her heel. It hung in the air behind her, almost humming a siren song into her ear, calling her back.

"You're not _supposed_ to investigate this, are you?" Ginny said agitatedly, strolling back in and pointing past Hermione's shoulder.

"Not _tech_nically." She cringed guiltily, attempting to shake away the grim visions imprinted on her memory.

Pursing her lips and exhaling through her nose, Ginny shook her head softly. "You crave trouble, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean." Hermione felt Ginny suddenly grasp her arm, causing her knees to give a little and the book to cease hovering and drop suddenly into the bag. Ginny's touch was not harsh, merely demanding and caring, not unlike a mother protecting her child from harm.

Squeezing in time with every other word to give power to her sentiment, Ginny replied: "You know perfectly well what I mean." Her forehead bobbed towards Herimone's, but she pulled herself upright abruptly. "Taking it upon yourself to track down people involved in dark magic without informing the Ministry of your whereabouts."

Tight-throated and stirred, Hermione took a sharp suck of breath, neither willing to relax into the touch nor let Ginny see any of the intense desire and regret that she felt sure was glimmering in her eyes. "I'm perfectly capable, you know."

Ginny's concerns seemed to fade. In fact, she looked at though she were concealing a dubious smirk. "Yes, yes you _certainly_ bloody are."

* * *

They shifted past each other and out of the door to the shop which purported to sell wool but was in fact a port key registration and travel agent office based at street level. "You didn't put up much of a fight," stated Hermione after a long, deafening silence.

"About what?"

"My taking on responsibilities that aren't mine to pursue."

"You scouted all over the globe with Harry and Ron... and now you're stuck in an underground office." Ginny shrugged as if to imply Hermione's behaviour was based on a disinterest in her job; a sentiment Hermione could not legitimately deny.

"It's a very nice office, thank you very much."

"But it's only natural that you should be looking for a bit of adventure." Ginny frowned, reached out to free a curly lock of hair from its trapped position under the collar of Hermione's dark blue trench coat.

Uncomfortable with the sudden, casual familiarity, Hermione stepped back a little. "This isn't an adventure, Ginny; it's work."

"Unofficial venture, then," she responded, rubbing her hands together to warm them before slipping on a pair of woollen gloves.

Hermione could not argue with that. "Look, we need to make a plan of action."

"Shall we go to yours?" Ginny began to lead the way, assuming that is what Hermione would want.

"No, no. I'd rather go somewhere we shan't be bothered by the Ministry. Perhaps -" Before she could suggest Ginny's home, Hermione felt a tight grip on her hand and a sudden pulling, squeezing sensation around her body. Birdsong. A brisk wind rushing through leaves. A distant stream. Brilliantly bright skies. A few moments passed before their hearing and sight adjusted. Ginny released her hand and Hermione felt the cold loss of it. "A little warning wouldn't have gone amiss," she complained, concentrating on the horizon as it levelled into view and her ears popped painfully, due to a large change in altitude.

"Sorry, didn't think," Ginny apologised for the impromptu disapparation. "Shall we?" she asked, holding out her arm guiding Hermione's line of sight.

Her fingertips pointed out a quaint single-story cottage on the periphery of the field. The house immediately caught Hermione's eye and, despite its current disused state, she fell instantly in love with it. Without a further ado, she began purposefully striding up the slope towards it.

* * *

"Urf," Ginny uttered, swiftly booting the door from its stuck state with a swift well-placed kick at the lower edge. As it swung open, clouds of dust kicked up around them, evoking coughs and splutters. "It's been vacant for years."

Hermione surveyed the rooms slowly, taking the time to carefully sign her name on a walnut table covered by thick dust. "A home from home," she said sarcastically, smirking at the decor.

To allow the house to breathe, Ginny propped the door open with a rusted cauldron she found lodged in the thicket. "Give it some credit." Putting on an estate agent-esque voice, she added: "It just needs a smidgin of attention."

Hermione smiled softly and genuinely. "At least it's distraction-free." As they moved from room to room, she noted with curiosity how familiar with the house, its layout and apparent quirks, Ginny seemed to be. However, faced with the last of the rooms - the study - Hermione became instantly distracted, immediately settling into the comfy leather chair as if it were her own. "If I owned a house, I would want a room _exactly_ like this. I am so sick of paperwork on the dining table and potions in the kitchen cupboards." Rising to look the ceiling-high bookcase up and down, her eyes narrowed, fixedly looking for a particular book that always seemed to evade her. Distracted but still talking excitedly, she pointed towards a concealed alcove. "And I'd have an ingredient cabinet over here." Her outstretched hand touched the brass finger plate of exactly that. "Oh," she drew back with surprise, having not noticed the piece of furniture before.

"It's like this room was designed for you," Ginny commented with an amused sniff.

* * *

Hermione placed her draw-string purse on the bedroom's oak washstand and began rooting about in its cavernous depths to find clothes to change into.

"Are you okay with this?" Ginny asked, tucking the bed sheet neatly under the corner of the mattress. "Sharing, I mean."

"I... of course; it's not as if we've never done it before," she replied unsurely, voice muffled as she continued to peer into her bag with wand directed, now seeking a box of matches. "Now. The book. If we can just work out -"

"Can we leave all that for now and relax for the rest of the evening?" asked Ginny, squinting with dismay and folding her arms.

Slightly frazzled, Hermione emerged, dragging out a heap of essentials, followed by a burgeoning hamper of food. Never let it be said that she was not prepared for anything. Anything, that is, apart from Ginny. Sighing, she found herself in agreement. "I suppose there's not much headway we can make tonight."

Ginny smirked triumphantly, jumping up to grab the basket and dive out of the room, into the hallway. "If you start a fire, I'll fetch some more wood," she requested from the kitchen. Hermione followed the sound of her voice until she found her, framed by the back doorway in the falling light of dusk, a light but chilled breeze sweeping leaves into the house around her. "There's a stack out -"

"Ginny." _Oh, Ginny. _Hermione stared for perhaps longer than she felt she should, her heart weighed down by the same thoughts that caused her shoulders to sag. "I'm so sorry for how things ended between us." Approaching, she touched her lightly on the arm, adding testament to the seriousness of her words. Ginny shivered ever so slightly. "I'm sorry for my behaviour. You must hate me."

"Hermione, you are the last person I could ever hate." Ginny dipped her head sorrowfully. "I would like for us to be friends again; do you think that's possible?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like to think it is," she replied, but she did not trust a single one of her own, or Ginny's, words.

* * *

A few scattered raindrops found their way down the chimney stack and evaporated instantly in the blaze. The fire warmed their curled up figures, each inhabiting a snug armchair. With a full stomach and half a bottle of vintage flowery wine working its way through Hermione's system, she was feeling pleasantly drowsy, and the sound of the howling winds pulling at the window panes somehow made her feel protected.

"What is this place?" she asked suddenly, causing Ginny to look up from a miniature trick lock box that she had found in a drawer and had been playing with distractedly for the past thirty minutes since. _Or perhaps it's you, Ginny, that makes me feel safe._

"Oh, just an old cottage," she murmured noncommittally, a look a sweet confusion still on her face.

Hermione didn't have enough energy to become irritated by Ginny's laconic replies. Nevertheless, she did not hold back her interrogation. "I mean, what is it to you? Why do you know of it?" She still wanted exposition, explanation.

"It belonged to a distant cousin." Ginny replied flatly.

_Vague._ "Did they die?" Hermione chewed at her bottom lip.

"Oh no. He won... what's it called - where muggles choose numbers, put them on little scroll slips and then, if they're lucky, they win an obscene amount of money?"

"The National Lottery?" she suggested before taking another heady sip of drink.

"That's it. He won that. Took his entire family to live in South Africa... that was about five years ago."

Hermione looked doubtful. "But there are restrictions on wizards betting on muggle games. There's clear legislation."

"Not for squibs."

"Oh. I... I never knew you had a squib in your family," she commented, intrigued.

Ginny chuckled, firelight glinting in her eyes. "That's a bit like expecting everyone in our family to be a redhead."

"Yes, I suppose genetics -"

"Jenny Ticks?" Ginny looked distinctly confused. "Who's that?"

Alcohol not inhibiting Hermione's ability for cogitation, an excited smile formed at the corner of her mouth. "Well in biology... " At this she received an even more expectant, bemused look, and realised she was too tired to explain the mechanics of elementary physiology, especially when she doubted Ginny's display of dubious naïveté. "Never mind." Instead, she watched the flames of the fire as they flickered and sparked, wood sap sizzling and snapping. "I've missed you, Ginny," she said under her breath, her eyes closing.

In her thick sleep, she dreamt of close, darkened embraces and secure feelings of contentment. That is, until the nightmares took over.

* * *

**22nd November 2000**

The choral coo of wood pigeons echoed down the chimney like a faint alarm bell and caused Hermione to stir. She found Ginny pressed into her side, fingers lightly intertwined with her own as if she'd suffered a fright in the night and sought comfort from the nearest willing body. Stifling a yawn, Hermione gently but reluctantly prised the clenched fingers from her own. Instinctively, she reached over to smooth Ginny's cheek, then thought better of it. Unable to remember getting to bed, let alone changing into her night things, she bit her lip at the thought of Ginny stripping off her clothes, touching her skin and reaching beneath her. _Don't be ridiculous; she'd have used magic_, she thought to herself, rising to wash and dress_. _

For some time she stared at the mirror, pulling discontentedly at the corners of her eyes to stem the tears that threatened to fall. "What am I even doing here?" she whispered to herself with a low growl as she rinsed her toothbrush and returned it to the small green wash bag. "Distance worked; this won't. How am I supposed to forget her if I keep forgetting myself when I'm around her?" Rigorously drying her hands, she once again looked up. "Sooner or later you'll do something stupid, Hermione," she scolded her reflection. "Really stupid, and then she'll know how you feel. And that simply won't do."

* * *

"It's a variation on Priori Incantatem," Hermione explained as she drew back the curtains before taking a seat at the desk in the study. "I've been working on it for a while. Slight drawback, though; it only works one page at a time. I haven't quite perfected how to make the spell turn the pages itself, and for safety we ought not to touch them."

"So it shows you the last spells cast over the book?" asked Ginny, genuinely interested and excited.

"A little different: it shows which words were read aloud and in time order. Incantations which haven't been used in years will appear faint."

Ginny drew up a chair and sat down. "And anything recently invoked or spell followed will appear bright?"

"Yes. Ideally, nothing will show up."

"Yeah, but that wouldn't be any fun." Ginny smirked playfully.

Hermione gave her a token disapproving look before opening the book to the first chapter, shaking away the desire to read the text despite the words strongly urging her to do so. With a flourish of her wand and a well-practiced whisper, a wash of energy rose and fell over the open pages like sunlit rainfall where - upon hitting the paper - the glimmer's brightness faded like a flame starved of oxygen. "One down," she stated matter-of-factly, looking discontentedly at the remaining stack of hundreds.

Ginny caught hold of Hermione's wrist just as she was about to cast again. "Wait," she commanded decisively, causing Hermione to swallow hard and blink rapidly. "If you repeat the spell continuously, I'll turn the pages."

"But it wouldn't be easy to get the timing, and then there's the matter of -"

"It's worth a try."

"All right, then," she agreed, begrudgingly submitting to logic. "Ready?"

Sitting with positions opposed, wands extended towards the hefty book, they looked as though transfixed by an intense game of chess. Eyes cast downwards - focus paramount - they quietly counted down in unison and began their tasks. As the synchronous momentum grew steady, their target became consumed by a glowing ball of unearthly incandescent light. Pages flew cleanly by with an audible flutter as if blown by a light gale. Ginny's suggestion, to Hermione's surprise, was working.

Halfway through their task, Hermione glanced up from the contained tempest they had created between them. She found Ginny looking directly at her, the golden light illuminating her contemplative, unabashed expression. Gulping away the tension in her throat, Hermione found that she could not drop her gaze nor cease her repeated words. The pages continued to flicker past her line of sight as she remained rapt with concentration, not on the book, but now completely on Ginny. Another minute passed. And another. The energy separating them was gradually growing stronger, gravitating them closer. Their ability to maintain the repetitive movement was waning, but neither ceased despite one aching wrist and one dry mouth. On and on.

Suddenly, with a jump, the book reached its climactic end and snapped shut, lying heaving as if bloated with effulgent water. Ginny and Hermione blinked out of their joint trance and lowered their heads towards the desk so as to peer at the book's fore-edge. With a cascading wave of dying light, the highlighted pages dimmed one by one; leaving only a single clear glowing strip like a thin, enticing smile; an illuminated keyhole in a darkened room beyond which unknown adventures surely lay.

"What a shame," Hermione said, though she didn't mean it. "One of the spells has been recently cast." Ginny moved round to stand beside her and flicked the book open. Together they read the still-glittering words of the summoning incantation, both struggling to make sense of the font-switching text as it crawled and swam across the page as if irritatedly shrugging off their gaze.

Frustrated by not only the focus denied by the book, but also limited heavily by her proximity to Ginny, Hermione gripped the edge of the desk, her slim nails digging at the varnish. She wanted nothing more than to rise from her seat and bury her face into the crook of Ginny's neck; to grasp at her back and waist, sink against her, inhale the scent of her hair and hold her as fast and as tight as bodily constraints would allow. _Concentrate, Hermione_. And so she did. Or, at the very least, tried. "It... it mentions merchants; merchants of what?" She frowned with disbelief, internally disgusted by not only her own lack of knowledge, but also the sip of lukewarm tea she had just swallowed.

Ginny squinted, looking absently towards the wall. "I've always thought they were a myth."

"Half the creatures in the wizarding world are ones _I_ once considered to be myths," Hermione snapped brusquely, though she had no understanding of why she had done so.

Ignoring the taunt, Ginny dragged a heavy trunk over to the bookcase, stepped onto it and stretched up to a high shelf. "You know the sort of thing. Centuries ago they were banished; some say they lie dormant somewhere, too weak to walk among us." She plucked out a slim hardback book and tossed it over. "Here we go."

"So... a fictional work?" Hermione caught the book, clumsily slapping it to her chest and scoring a red line across her neck. With a grimace she noted the cover. "Oh. And a children's book no less? Why do we always come back to nursery rhymes and fairy tales?"

"Well they're often the most truthful, don't you think?" Ginny joined her, taking the lead and cracking the book open to the relevant page. Depicted upon it was a cartoonish version of a human, except it was unlike any human they had ever seen: the features of the figure changed endlessly as ink and watercolours flickered pleasantly into other gruesome, sinister forms designed to inspire both fear and delight.

"Shape-shifters?" queried Hermione thirstily.

"More like... a composite of all the people they've taken life from. And if these things are real, we're not equipped to deal with them."

Hermione mulled this over, unable to look away from the hypnotic image as it flashed from one body and face to the next. "Take life?" she muttered, visualising Ginny as a small child, fascinated by the same demented zoetrope-like animated picture that lay before her. "Like Dementors?"

Ginny shook her head. "These work of their own volition. I think they were originally cursed wizard and witches or something. Whoever summoned them probably did so because their life was coming to an end. Say they were mortally wounded or ill beyond the capabilities of healers. They call upon these beings to grant them extended life. Or so goes the legend."

"Extend... but you said they _take_ life." Hermione tapped at the small book, the chapter of which she suddenly noticed was entitled: 'Barterer Beware the Traders'.

"That's the bargain. In order to extend their own, the summoner must sacrifice one of their kin or beloved."

Horrified, Hermione sat back and crossed her arms as a means of comforting herself. "That's awful. But at least it gives us a lead... if we can track down those people who have been on the brink of death and subsequently their child or relative has died mysteriously, then -"

"No."

"No?" Hermione did not like the word no, and she liked it even less when formed by Ginny's pretty mouth.

"It doesn't work like that." Ginny leaned in close, their arms ever so slightly touching.

And despite the obstruction of the sleeve of Ginny's jumper and the arm of Hermione's cardigan, the ticklish, invigorating sensation was still too distracting. Hermione got up and approached the window. "What do you mean?" she coughed, pressing a finger to the cold glass in order to feel a shiver drive its way up her spine.

"The exchange is in the form of a contract. It's almost like writing it into your will: 'on the event of my death, the life source of my child, father, mother... or, maybe, someone I love, will be the property of the Traders'."

"So they won't take the life until the summoner has died?" Hermione asked rhetorically, watching the trees sway in the distance. "What makes them beyond our capabilities? Surely if they are bargaining for life force, they pose no threat to us. It's not as if I'm about to sign away one of my loved ones' lives." She squeezed shut her eyes as the chill in the air further embedded into her bones, and the shudder of her skin brought with it a harsh dose of reality. _Do I count among those you love, Ginny? _she wondered.

"Because they can, and will, take the life of any bystander in their way. We are nothing to them."

"But why, then - if they can take any life - would they offer an exchange; an exchange which involves waiting for years or decades even?"

Ginny's expression was deadly serious. "Because a life offered is far, far greater in value than that of a life taken."

* * *

It still didn't make sense to Hermione. _Why did she find me now? Why did she have the book? Why bring me here? _A re-kindled flicker of distrust in her re-found friend was enough for Hermione to want to hide the book, at least until she had quizzed Ginny over what she had been up to for the last seven months. She conjured a duplicate copy, placing the original amongst the jars and bottles of the potions cabinet. As she fastened the ornate brass latch a thought crossed her mind.

Carefully, she re-opened the door to look at the contents. Hanging bundles of rosemary, aconite, jars of lacewings, vials of antidotes; nothing unusual, in fact Hermione considered it to be a great collection and quite worthy of herself, but more clearly that anything else: _this has very been recently stocked_. She took another look at her surroundings; unlike the rest of the rooms, it was perfectly clean and dust-free. And the chair, she noted with interest, though clearly vintage, was pristine with not a stain or broken stitch. _Either this house wasn't as vacant as Ginny thought_, she surmised, _or she's been lying to me._

"Are you coming?" Ginny called from the hallway.

"I'll be right there." Hermione opened the counterfeit book to the page they had been studying and placed it on the desk. Touching its pages held no fear, the paper devoid of the distilled power which was so clear in its parent. A dead and harmless tome, which Hermione considered would make an excellent reference book.

Stepping out, she found Ginny - already in a jacket and scarf - sitting on a wooden pew-like bench by the door and pulling on her fur-lined, knee-high boots. "Where are you going?"

"We ought to get that book back to the Ministry." Ginny replied.

"I _really_ don't think that's necessary." Hermione folded her arms, looking doubtful. "You're overreacting."

"This from the queen of 'do the right thing'," Ginny said with moderate incredulity, extending a hand towards Hermione and stamping her heel against the flagstone floor to wedge her foot in place.

"You should undo your laces properly or you'll damage your boots," Hermione admonished. Ginny rolled her eyes in response. "Look, Ginny, we have no evidence to suggest that the incantation worked or that it summoned anything; we'd be bothering the authorities over nothing. They just want the book back so that people will stop mucking about with it. In the hands of someone weak-willed it could do a great deal of damage. But it's not in their hands; it's in our hands and we're not about to start practising dark magic, now are we?" she said astutely. _But why did she have that book in the first place? Why? How strong is Ginny's will against such things?_

Ginny narrowed her eyes, suppressing a laugh. "Did you say what I think you said?"

"What? When?" Hermione paused to think. "No. I... mucking, mucking... not -" She stopped herself and watched Ginny smile deviously. "It's not that I can't; I just don't."

"I know." She rubbed at a scuff mark on her jacket pocket. "You never do, not even when we... y'know."

_Argued?_ _Fought? Left each other behind? _"Well, then. Stop teasing." She blushed scarlet with embarrassment, teeth tugging nervously at her lips.

"The day you start effing and blinding is a day we'd all better watch out."

"You had better believe it." Hermione raised an eyebrow, speaking half seriously and suddenly finding that her coat was slipping its way onto her arms and a hat was wedging its way onto her head. "Ginny," she scolded with a disgruntled sigh.

Ginny shoved her wand back into her boot, covered her knees with her hands and raised herself up to Hermione's level before slipping her hand into her grip.

"I told you," Hermione sighed, exasperated. "I don't think we should apparate to the Ministry."

"I'm just... I'm not. Oh, never mind." Ginny let out a chuckle and shook her head. "Come with me. I've got something to show you."

* * *

"You're terrible at dissuading me," commented Hermione as they strolled along the upwardly-inclined, sinuous path that weaved away from the rear of the house. They no longer held hands, instead walking with fists plunged firmly into deep pockets.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, I suppose you _will_ keep making sense. Besides, I've always known when to escape an argument with you," she replied flippantly.

Hermione smiled genuinely to herself, looking away to the horizon to disguise her joy and amusement at Ginny's remark. "Why did you come to see me?" Her smile dropped as she recalled the last time they saw one another and the veritable escape Ginny had made.

"Like I said: I just want to spend some time with you."

"Why now?"

"Why not?" Ginny shivered in the cold breeze and pulled her scarf farther up her neck, her hair dancing madly around her shoulders and whipping at her cheeks. "You seem suspicious of me."

Hermione hadn't intended on being so transparent. "After I pushed you away like that... the way I treated you; how can you let it all go so easily?"

Forcing her hair into a messy ponytail, Ginny paused for thought, many unsaid words almost invisibly twitching at her lips. After a shudder of her shoulders and a rub of her eyes, she finally formed a reply. However, it still failed to enlighten Hermione in any way. "You had your reasons, but I think it's time you let me try and work my way back into your life, and you into mine."

"Right," Hermione agreed softly, pursing her lips. Eyes cast down to the rocky track, she found herself dumbfounded, quite unsure what else to say. Clenching her teeth, she considered the possibilities of why Ginny would behave so cagily yet so sweetly. _Tell me stories of Holyhead_. _Tell me everything good, everything bad. Tell me you hate me and don't hide behind the fear of hurting me as I did you_, she begged silently, her ears beginning to ache from the cold. _Verisimilitudes would do; I just need something_.

Before she had the chance to form an actual question, Ginny abruptly announced: "This is it." Hermione's throat jumped, suddenly feeling as though she might topple into the valley below. The peak had come suddenly and Hermione had not been her usual observant self. Ginny grabbed at the back of Hermione's pinched-waist coat. "Sorry. Should have warned you," she apologised with a wince, steadying Hermione with the application of strong fingers at her sides. She had dreamt often of such an encounter, but in her dreams the touch would always be followed by a kiss.

Feeling ridiculous, Hermione attempted to find a little poise. "Quite overwhelming, isn't it?" she choked out as Ginny's hands slipped away. Feigning self-control, she sank down onto her bottom, held her knees and breathed in the fresh air in great, chest-shuddering lungfuls. Her internal maelstrom was not eased by the awe-worthy view: wide open landscapes - no matter how wondrous - would always remind her of the weeks spent evading capture from snatchers. Those tense days even marred family camping holidays in Hermione's mind. Brand new memories needed to be created and, naturally, that required memorable events.

Ginny flopped down, extending her legs and crossing them at the ankles. "I know that I'm a typical outdoorsy girl and you might not -"

"Just because I'm interested in books and magical science doesn't mean that I can't appreciate natural beauty." She turned to look at Ginny who was looking intently upon the rolling landscape below. _A natural beauty such as yours, Ginny_, she pondered, a heat that already dwelt in her chest swelling uncomfortably.

Time passed and - despite many springing to mind - barely a word was spoken between them. A few birds fluttered close by and Hermione began to contemplate picking up a subject she had considered broaching seven months before: the night they parted ways. Seeking courage from deep inside brought an insuppressible wave of nausea. She tried smelling the crisp air to settle her nervous trepidation, but the only scent she could catch was Ginny, and that served only to set her nerves jangling.

"Are you alright?" asked Ginny, placing a hand delicately on Hermione's shin, concerned at her companion's twisted expression.

"Mm. Just a little cold," she lied, roughly squeezing at her own tense shoulder.

Ginny shuffled nearer and slipped an arm around her waist. Reflexively, Hermione's stomach lurched with pleasurable pain and instinct led her to pull away. Ginny reacted immediately, responding with no less haste and concern than if she had accidentally set a fire between them. "Sorry. Sorry, I should have thought; it's hard to re-grow a friendship in an instant."

"No, it's fine. I... it's fine," Hermione said timidly. "It's silly sitting here in silence. Why don't you tell me what you've been up to?"

"Can't we talk about something else?" Ginny asked, twisting her wristwatch to look at the face.

"You act as though you have something to hide." Hermione turned her eyes to the grey, tumultuous skies which reflected her inner turmoil. A single raindrop fell and ran streaming down her cheek. To avoid the assumption of tears, she quickly applied a sleeve cuff to dry the area and made a show of looking upward to tut loudly at the skies.

"I forgive you, y'know," Ginny said under her breath. "I probably shouldn't, but I do." They locked gazes, but neither smiled. "I know I should overcome my feelings, but something inside me refuses." The clouds overhead swarmed and a rumble of thunder echoed through the valley. Lightning lit up a distant hill as the clouds burst above them and rain began to blatter upon the ground.

Without lowering her fixed, expectant look, Hermione swiftly pulled her wand from her coat and - holding it like an impromptu umbrella - cast _Protego Elementia_ above their heads to divert water over a large, transparent convex field of energy. _Feelings_. Hermione's attention had been thoroughly caught by that word alone, the rest blurring into the turbid fog filling her mind. "What do you mean?" she uttered, her throat constricted by caution.

"No matter what they say, I can't give up on you." Ginny clasped their hands together once again. "Being distanced from you has been so hard. And if you want to push me away, then that's your prerogative, but..."

With every catching breath, she felt that familiar knock inside her chest. It seemed like such an absurdity to feel so awkward with such a long-time friend. Over time, life had become easier: the fever caused by one Ginevra Weasley had faded, but here she was again, raising Hermione's temperature and making her skin sizzle with desire. _This_, Hermione surmised, _is exactly why we chose to cease our close friendship_. "Yes?" she prompted eagerly, feeling like an odd, public exhibit in their water-resistant bell jar.

Most of all, she wanted to smooth her thumbs across Ginny's knitted brow, whisper terms of endearment and feel breath against her cheek. She found herself edging forward, advancing for a kiss despite feeling perplexed by her own self-confidence in doing so. Her primal side appeared to be taking over. Hermione's gaze dropped to Ginny's mouth where - to her astonishment - she spied a look of wanting on Ginny's partly open lips. Her wand, still pointing skyward, wavered and slipped sidewards; the protective bubble shifted and their shoes became dashed with rain.

Now distracted, Ginny drew her knees up to her chest, and responded robotically with: "It's okay."

With frantic curiosity, Hermione's eyes darted, seeking that look of want once again. It was not to be found. Suddenly it all felt like a ploy, like she had been lured to a beautiful location and given the opportunity to make a fool of herself. _Little does she realise that - despite not wanting to ever be wrong - I am old and wise enough to not fear being laughed at. When in doubt, ask plainly,_ she thought. "Am I misreading the situation or might you want to kiss me?" She watched Ginny's dipped head shake. Part of Hermione was disappointed, the rest relieved. Nevertheless, she was entirely shocked by Ginny's lack of incredulity at the presumptive question itself. "Right." Since no truths seemed forthcoming, Hermione made a decision. "Should we head back?" she asked resolutely.

"Yeah," came a hushed breath of a word. Ginny half squinted, pressing the back of her hand to her pouting lips.

Hermione went to get up, but was pulled back down by the elbow. "Oh, for goodness' sake, will you decide -" But Ginny was looking at her so intently that all subsequent words were quite stolen away.

"The answer to your question is yes." Ginny looked deadly serious. "Yes, I wanted to kiss you." That was it, no advance, just a statement tinged with anger and desperation.

Hermione was addled by the situation, unable to determine Ginny's intention. _I wanted to kiss you_, played on a loop in her head. The idea of it overwhelmed her, made her pulse race and neck flush. She had long desired the woman before her, but remained in disbelief that it could be so easy. If anything, it further endorsed the notion that Ginny was not quite herself, and - in magical terms - that could mean a whole host of things. "Perhaps we should get back," she offered, since no resolution or physical entanglements were immediately forthcoming. _If she wanted to taunt me with her begging mouth, then I just had the mind to kiss those those lips without her permission_," she taunted silently.

"You're right, we should -" Ginny made a move to get up, but was yanked back down to her knees.

Hermione was tightly gripping the front of Ginny's jumper with her wandless hand, pulling insistently, her need implicit. She had allowed herself - once and for all - to truly crave the touch of Ginny's lips. A shiver of hot anticipation ran through Hermione's abdomen as the tip of her nose brushed against Ginny's cool cheek. She pulled firmly but hesitantly, drawing their mouths close as simultaneous gasps escapes their throats. And then it happened. That event that Hermione had dreamt of for so long. Ginny kissed her.

Sinking towards each other, Ginny grappled at Hermione's coat collar; urgency fully reciprocal. Forgetting the need for it, Hermione dropped her wand. The spell ceased. Rain fell undeterred. It was at this moment that Ginny seemed to come to her senses. "This isn't what you want," she protested, holding Hermione back as rain cascaded over her cheeks and nose, dampening her hair and seeping beneath her jacket collar.

"Does it really seem that way?" Hermione grasped Ginny's face with both hands and pulled her in for a breathless, almost biting kiss, toppling her over onto her back against the sodden ground as the rain pounded down upon her shoulders. Hermione tipped her head toward the touch of Ginny's thumb against the soft, wet skin of her neck. The simple act evoked sensations she didn't even know were there to be had; it made her cheeks blush and lashes flutter. Looking down, she noticed that Ginny was screwing her eyes up tightly, as if making a wish.

Taking a moment, Hermione sighed raggedly, resting her forehead against Ginny's in an attempt to recoup a sense of reality. She placed her hand over Ginny's, which was resting on her neck, still massaging the area behind her ear like it was second nature for her to be doing so. Ginny, sheltered by Hermione atop her, blinked away droplets of water from her eyelashes. "I know you. Soon you'll feel different. You'll be distant again. The feeling will fade."

"It won't," Hermione protested firmly.

"Come on. This has to stop." Ginny wriggled awkwardly underneath her.

"No. Please."

"Yes, Hermione. It has to be a yes." Above them, the electric storm's orchestral cacophony played over their exit from hapless romantic beginnings with Ginny scrabbling out of Hermione's arms as an extraordinary thunder clap rended the heavens.

* * *

Completely drenched by the deluge, Hermione carelessly followed Ginny down the uneven hillside, slipping in haste. "Ginny, hold on," she yelled over the slap of rain against autumn leaves and muddied ground. This behaviour seemed unusual; it just wasn't the Ginny she once knew. _Why did she bring me here, to the middle of nowhere? Was it merely a trap? Does she want the book? If that's the case, then why did she bring it to me? _

Realisation poured over her. _She needed my skills, my abilities, to unlock the power in the book, to find the incantation, maybe even... to make it work._ Hermione felt sick to her stomach but also afraid; afraid for Ginny. _She was using me; she must have always known what I wanted, how I felt for her, and she took advantage in order to make me compliant._

"I shouldn't have come here." Ginny tripped up and stumbled, shaking her head angrily. "I should have listened to them."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione shouted after her, unable to hear the rest of the burbled speech. "Listened to whom?"

An absurd thought struck her. _Would she offer my life to those creatures_? _Is she pretending to love me to convince them that I am worthy of trade? _A chill unrelated to the cold weather ran through her body and made Hermione shake even more. It hurt her to think these things and to be quite so distrusting. She never thought she would feel this way about someone she cared for. However, no matter how ridiculous the concept of Ginny being taken in by dangerous, dark acts, Hermione could not get past the feeling that there was definitely still something wrong about this situation.

Ginny's mist-shrouded figure disappeared into the house. Something inside Hermione gave up a little. A burrowing sensation encouraged her to submit to Ginny's bidding, regardless of the consequences. _But that's not adventure_, she told herself. _Is it really in my nature to be the follower? A submissive type, who gets her kicks from subservience?_ She felt bewitched and confused by the feelings broiling up inside her. _It could hardly be the actions of a person in their right mind. Who on earth would give themselves up in such a way; what kind of fool would I be? _Hermione felt so utterly powerless. _It is as if she emits an aura which has caught me, captured me; it is her web. What kind of stupor would cause me to enter the trap so willingly?_

Had Hermione known exactly where the house was - she wasn't even aware of the country let alone county - she might have chosen to depart and keep the distance of which Ginny spoke. On her lonely walk back to the house, she found herself wondering about the friendship they had once had; the one that had dissolved, perished, when once she had seen the opportunity to grow individually and apart. Stepping over a muddy track, she watched a damp hedgehog scamper away from the coal shed and scurry round the side of the house, running for cover.

She blamed herself for the way Ginny was now: foolhardy and bold. Had pushing her away made her harder, colder? She considered the relationships Ginny might have had whilst away; the sexual engagements and love affairs. "A pretty girl is never in want of a partner," she muttered aloud, her teeth on edge. Hermione knew precisely why she had been caught and trapped: she was still in love. Head over heels in love.

And, at that moment, it felt like the most dangerous trap of all.

* * *

Clingy, soaking clothes were the last of Hermione's current concerns. With the pain of rejection hot in her stomach and anger setting fires in her chest, she stepped closer to Ginny . Embarrassed by their prior embrace, she immediately turned her frustration to other matters. "How did you get the book, Ginny?" she asked, her lips pressed to the knuckle of a damp, clenched fist.

"It doesn't matter," she responded with a shake of her head, combing her hands through her hair.

"No, really." Her continued reluctance infuriated Hermione, who stood dripping with fury and raindrops. "I want to know."

"An old book shop." Ginny responded noncommittally, pushing out her bottom lip to emphasise the irrelevance. She dropped her head.

Shivering and rubbing her raw hands together, Hermione bobbed her knees and requested: "Which?"

Slowly unlooping her sopping scarf, Ginny cleared her throat. "Hermi-"

"Tell me." Despite growing weary of this unedifying battle, Hermione remained adamant in her demands.

"Fine! Not that it matters." Ginny looked off to one side, eyes glazing over darkly. "Palimpsest's."

Hermione stood back, agape and frowning. "You _followed_ me?"

"Of course not." Ginny pulled out her wand and flicked it at Hermione.

Hermione flinched and prepared to duck as the force blew over her like a warm wind. "W-what did you do to me?" she asked, opening one eye slowly

"A drying spell, you bloody great pair of bloomers. Blimey. What did you think I was going to do? Turn you into a frog? Would you please start treating me like a normal person instead of the enemy?" Ginny check her watch again and headed for the kitchen. "It's getting really boring," she added, casting the same spell at herself.

_Why is she constantly checking the time? It something happening soon? Is she expecting someone?_ Hermione's shoe crunched on broken glass. Bemused, she looked down to see the damage and found underfoot a pool of dirty-gold, gloppy liquid and a cork in amongst the mud. _Everything is a bloody mess._ Striding through, she pulled Ginny round. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully said: "You brought the book to me on the _very_ day I was given the assignment. How do you explain it?"

"Serendipity." Ginny pulled her shoulders up and raised her hands in submission.

"How do I know you didn't have the book because you wanted it for your own ends?"

"Bloody hell, Hermione." Ginny was simply aghast. "Just because I haven't been in your pocket doesn't mean I've been running around with Azkaban's finest for cripe's sake. You know me better than that!"

"I'm not sure I know you at all anymore," Hermione spat caustically before covering her mouth with one hand, distressed by her own comment, her throat taut and sore from the outburst. Spotting the bottle of leftover wine from the previous night, she indicated for Ginny to pass it over to relieve the tightness and pain.

"Don't say that, Hermione. Please don't." Quite solicitously, Ginny made quick work of popping the wedged-in cork and pouring a little out.

Hermione took three sips and relaxed a fraction. That didn't stop her mind from stomping directly back into the land of assumptions and to that smashed glass bottle. "What's in this? A love potion, I suppose? Did you want to feel giddy around me? Or was it the other way round? Plying me with mind-altering drugs to make me susceptible to your will?"

"Hermione, there's nothing in the drink," she assured. "Trust me. I wouldn't do that to you."

But through the dry, sweet liquid, Hermione could detect something altogether more acrid. She touched her lips as the parageusia overtook any edge of pleasantness, leaving her with a strong astringent, metallic taste. Her sinuses began to scream with searing pain. The glass slipped from her fingers, knocking against the edge of the table and spinning gracefully towards the floor where it smashed. A deafening buzz filled her ears.

Gasping, she collapsed to the floor and lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**1st April 2000**

"It's getting easier for them. Well, I hope so, anyway," Ginny said to Hermione, nodding glumly as she watched George and Angelina cuddle by the Burrow's large fireplace. "It's definitely not the crazy party it used to be, and I don't suppose it ever will be." The grief brought by war had tarnished everyone's ability for happiness; time passing only took away the glory of triumph and reminded everyone of those absent from their lives.

"I'm _sure_ another set of Weasley twins will pop up in some future generation to raise hell again." Hermione nudged at Ginny's side, sidling up against her on the sofa.

Ginny smiled softly and widely, but the pain behind the eyes was ever present. Nothing would ever be the same. All involved had been deeply scarred, both visibly and mentally. She looked at Hermione, knowing the nightmares she must hide in order to remain positive. Each time they were together, it was as if she regressed to simpler times before blood was spilt. They rarely spoke of loss. "I'd like to see that," Ginny said honestly, absently caressing her fingertips over Hermione's forearm.

"Ginny?" Hermione uttered in the smallest of small voices, her lower lip juddering a fraction.

"Yeah?" Ginny wanted Hermione to crack; to share her open wounds so that they might both heal from the damage that felt as though it would always persist. She wanted to have someone with whom she could be entirely honest no matter the consequences, and she wanted that someone to be Hermione.

The fire crackled and Hermione cleared her throat. "I've been meaning to tell you something important."

Ginny rested her head on Hermione's shoulder, breathing deeply and letting her vision be filled with the flames beyond. "Me too."

"Please go first. Please," Hermione begged, sitting bolt upright and jerking away. Demurely, she kept her eyes on her lap.

Despite being taken aback by Hermione's suddenly formal behaviour, Ginny agreed. A decision had been made: she would tell the truth. A decision would not ease the difficulty of the action itself, but things could not go on as they were. "It's sort of huge."

Hermione looked up. "Yes?"

Ginny forced a grin. "Well... I tried out for the Harpies and they want me. Can you believe it?" Hermione's face wasn't aglow with delight, which she found entirely disconcerting. _Could you not even try to be happy for me?_ she projected mentally.

"Oh..." Hermione visibly hesitated. "That's _brilliant_. I... I'm so pleased for you. You deserve it; you're a fantastic player." A large, uncomfortable smile finally appeared on her lips, teeth scarcely slipping into view for half a second.

Frowning slightly and speaking softly, Ginny continued to explain. "I move next Tuesday. I haven't told anyone... until now. I didn't particularly _want_ to tell anyone else... yet."

"Move, right, yes. Tuesday? Isn't that rather soon?" Hermione sat quite still, tilting her head in order to look interested, but she leant a little too far and so it appeared to Ginny like she was trying to tip the words directly out of her ear.

Ginny was flummoxed by Hermione's unemotional response. She found it unnerving. "Yeah, well, I... they said I need to get trained up to be ready for the start of the season." This wasn't entirely true, but she did want to skip to the next chapter of her life as soon as possible.

"Wales isn't it? Yes. Of course, Holyhead, Celtic league, yes." Hermione's forehead crumpled. "And an all girls team," she blurted out, arching a judgemental eyebrow, which she immediately began to scratch to conceal the movement.

So many sentiments came to Ginny's mind; so many desperate pleas. _I'm running to new and better things, to a place where I can try to forget and move on. Don't you want to object? Don't you want to follow? _"Yes. Now come on, what's your news?" Ginny probed.

"I'll miss you," Hermione admitted, her voice lacking its usual intelligent sparkle.

Ginny's heart felt like it was juddering in her chest, unevenly toppling over and over like a punctured bicycle tyre. "Don't be silly," she dismissed, picking up Hermione's hand hopefully and grasping it tightly. "Anyway. That's not your news, is it?" she asked encouragingly, running her thumb over Hermione's knuckles.

Hermione took a deep breath and said three unexpected words: "Oh! I know." She paused, holding her palm open flat. "I'm switching departments at the Ministry. Someone got ousted so I'm finally in. Magical Law Enforcement," she revealed, nodding enthusiastically, mild panic set in her eyes.

"Oh, Hermione, that's fantastic," Ginny said with genuine joy, pulling her into a congratulatory hug, hands intentionally delving into waves of sweet-smelling hair. "I knew you could do it," she uttered, her throat straining against the pride swelling in her chest.

The hug was the first one in a long time that carried any emotion. The strength of it built and waned with each breath. Again and again. Neither wanted to let go. "It's something I've desired for a year or so," Hermione whispered softly, holding tight and speaking almost directly into Ginny's shoulder. "One of those things that you think about... and it feels right. I couldn't want _anything_ more." Her voice caught and Ginny heard the strange intonation.

"We are still talking about the job here, aren't we?" Ginny chuckled unsurely as they broke the embrace, eyes red-rimmed from restrained tears. _Please tell me what I want to hear. Tell me something that will make me stay_.

"Of course. What else would I mean?" Hermione turned away, placed her hands on her knees, closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "When you go away... I..." She swallowed thickly. "Perhaps we shouldn't keep in contact."

"Did I hear you right?" Ginny asked with an expression of sheer shock, wondering if Hermione thought joining a Quidditch team was reason enough for banishment.

"Yes."

Ginny drew back in disbelief. "I thought you would want to support me in this. I didn't know you'd gladly send me on my way and never speak again."

"I do… support you, that is." A sibilant huff of annoyance slipped from her throat. "That's why you should go. Absolutely." She hesitated. "But it would be too complicated to keep in touch."

"Why would you throw away everything we have just because I'm leaving England?" Ginny sat forward in order to look at Hermione's profile, which carried an almost owl-like stillness, eyes wide and staring at the Weasley family clock and at the one forever-still hand on its face. "It's not like you couldn't visit just like that." Ginny snapped her fingers, causing Crookshanks to wake, stretch and waddle off the back of the sofa.

Meekly, Hermione tapped at the seat cushion. "A new start. And not forever. Just for a while. Maybe a year or two."

"There's something you're not telling me." _There's got to be. _Ginny tentatively held Hermione's wrist and calmly gazed into nervous eyes. "You can tell me anything," she said under a hushed breath, aware of the moderately-piqued interest of her family and their feeble attempts at pretending not to listen. "Please, Hermione. Whatever it is… you can tell me."

Hermione slowly pulled her arm away. "I'm not hiding anything. It's for the best; trust me. That's all."

_That's all._ The final straw. Ginny rose to her feet. "For the best?" she shouted with bitter incredulity, shocking the rest of the household so much that Molly's hand immediately gestured for the teapot to pour itself. "It could hardly be for the bloody best, Hermione. But, fine, if that's what you want." Ginny held back a gasp of self-horror at what she was about to say. "Then that's what we'll do."

* * *

**19th November 2000**

Rolf leapt forward and pinched a flower leaf just as Luna was letting go. "Oh, and I don't need watering often as I come from arid climes." Luna smiled at his practical yet unintentionally silly nature; he pressed the leaf again to cease the recording and grinned back at her. "Go on, Ginny," he encouraged. "Isn't there anything you want to say?"

Ginny screwed up her face for a moment and took a deep breath. Lost for words, she found herself looking up to the ceiling of the tent. "Could you leave me alone for a second? I just need -"

"You don't need to explain anything. Come on Rolf." Luna took his hand and led him outside.

A rumble of nervousness passed through her body. Approaching, she leant forward to grip a leaf between her thumb and forefinger for half a second. Ginny's other hand rose to her chest where it flattened, palm down, in an attempt to stop her heart from beating out of her ribcage.

Despite feeling quite stern, she found herself shaking involuntarily. After a minute or so she finally started. "Hermione. I understand. I understand and... and you probably think I blame you entirely for what happened between us, but I don't. Gosh, I really don't."

* * *

"I'll owl it over once I'm settled back in England," Ginny informed Luna, who was busily wrapping the gift box.

"You're loved too, Ginny," she said quite out of the blue, looking up and consequently weaving her finger into the centre of the knot then having to yank it free. "There we go." She stood and held up the completed package. "The personal touch. Magic can make things so impersonal sometimes, don't you think?" she said rhetorically, despite then proceeding to pick up her wand to add a garnish of bobbing, confetti-like shapes.

"Thank you for being here for me, Luna."

"Any time," she replied tranquilly.

* * *

**21st November 2000**

Sitting on the window seat, Ginny crossed her arms over her raised knees and watched the street far below though the bulging square panes. Rain cascaded lazily from rooftops, falling through cast-iron gutters, to rush over the inclined cobbled road. It should have been a relaxing sight, but all she could do was look out for a figure that would never arrive.

"Jumping jellybeans!" exclaimed a voice from the doorway behind her. It came as no surprise to Ginny to see Ambra's hand fly to her forehead as she dropped the morning paper. "I thought I was alone," she said, shocked.

"Sorry. Got back last night," Ginny explained unenthusiastically.

"I wouldn't have heard you. I was listening to the records your brother sent me." Ambra covered her mouth and yawned. "You look terrible." A clump of small flowers, which had been pushed into her hair, dropped and dangled in front of her eyeline, causing Ambra to go cross-eyed momentarily.

"Oh, thanks," Ginny replied sarcastically, rubbing at her face and wrapping her thick, floppy cardigan further round her middle.

"You know what I mean." Ambra pouted sympathetically. "You must be completely key-lagged, what with the time difference and everything."

Ginny wondered if she should have stayed out in the desert with Luna and Rolf. "I couldn't sleep, even if I tried." She sat toying with a small glass bottle, turning it between her fingers. No matter her location, she always had one vision behind closed eyes: her last memory of Hermione.

"Getting away didn't help, then?" she asked, buttoning up her thin woollen coat and tying back her messy tresses of raven hair with an elaborate but fragile clasp.

"It was a good idea, but -" she shook her head, nuzzled her chin into her shrugged shoulder and shivering in the draught. "I'm just the same, but with more sand in my shoes."

"So, what are you up to today?" Ambra asked casually, feeling that the conversation couldn't progress any further in that direction without Ginny becoming progressively maudlin.

"Off to the shops, I suppose. I'm still trying to track down an old book, and there are a couple I haven't tried yet."

"Not like you to make such an effort over something like that."

"Just an old promise I said I'd keep." Ginny chewed on her bottom lip, considering events of the past and possible future. "Ambra, may I borrow your owl to send a package?"

"I've lost him," she sighed, before darting about the place, clearly searching.

"What do you mean you've _lost_ him?" Ginny realised instantly that it wasn't her feathered friend that her flatmate was looking for, and so pulled out Ambra's wand from under a stack of papers and handed it over.

"Ta." She began tutting to herself. "I think the silly old piece of fluff has gone to my dad's. Again. Where's the package for?"

"The Ministry... it's for Hermione." Ginny picked it up, turning it in her hands.

"So you're sending her a gift, huh?" she mused with a giggle whilst trying to repair a tear in her lacy skirt with an inefficient spell that just spewed sticky green thread onto the fabric.

"It's just something from Luna and Rolf... from the expedition."

"Oh, right. Well I'll drop it off if you like. Now, floo powder, floo powder." Ambra looked around frantically. "I am so so late; I said I'd be in early today."

"I don't want Hermione to know I'm back."

"I can just take it to the post room. Don't worry; if I see her I won't mention you're in town again."

"Floo powder is on the mantel, where it always is." Ginny indicated with a pointed look.

"Great, yes!" Ambra exclaimed, looking like she could kiss the tin. "Here, let me take that." She lifted the package out of Ginny's hands, stepped up to the hearth and threw a dusting of powder on the fire causing the flames to turn green. "See you later." She gave a small wave. "Oh, my book," she began pointing wildly at a side table. Ginny grabbed it and tossed it over. Ambra deftly caught it with her free hand. "Ha. I never catch anything first time," she said, clearly impressed with herself. "Right, I'm off to -"

Ginny winced as Ambra's shoe caught on the edge of the grate causing her to stumble backwards and fall bottom first into the emerald ethereal flames.

"- the _Ministry_." Ambra finished her sentence as the flames consumed her and sent her on her way.

Frowning in sympathy for her friend, Ginny spoke aloud to the otherwise empty room: "That's going to be one hell of a landing."

* * *

Pulling her hood up to provide protection from the unyielding rain, Ginny ran down the narrow street, bursting into the shop and shaking the water from her sleeves. Noting the frozen state of the shopkeeper, she instead directed her attentions to the stacks, spending time acquainting herself with the layout and desperately scouring the catalogues of book titles to find the author of one in particular. It was proving to be difficult, if not impossible; the records were a mess.

The bell above the door rang out to signal the presence of another customer. Ginny didn't turn; she was too busy running her finger along a long, poorly-scribbled list of book titles. She did, however, find herself absentmindedly listening to the sobering sound of firm footsteps on the cold stone floor. About to flip to another page, Ginny hesitated upon hearing a familiar voice. Even despite the added inflection, it was still very clear to whom it belonged.

_Of all the book shops, _she thought, carefully inching toward the curtained area in the corner. _Not here, not now._ This was not the right place for a reunion. She thanked the bad weather for ensuring she had transfigured her jacket into a cloak for the journey. Still, Ginny couldn't help but listen to what was being said to the clearly mentally-elsewhere owner of the shop. Pressing her lips together, she felt a pang of sorrow on hearing Hermione struggle, knowing how internally frustrated she would be at this moment.

"Excuse me," Hermione said with a clear note of caution. "Do you happen to know whether Mr Palimpsest is out temporarily?" The question was clearly directed at Ginny. She halted at the entrance to the portraits area and drew her hood beyond her cheek. She couldn't risk being recognised and so murmured a grumble of agreement. _Ugh, complete rubbish, _Ginny scolded herself. _She'll be suspicious of that in a second. _

However, there came no further questions. She could see Hermione's face in her mind's-eye and simply ached to turn round. Seconds past like aeons. Before long the door to the shop jingled shut and she let out a long-held breath. Ginny's shoulders sagged, unable to stomach the desire to run after her. Chancing her good luck, she beckoned a bibliograp down to eye level and spoke into the funnel-like ear presented.

She watched it fly off to the very top-reaching rafters where, after much scrabbling and squawking, it retrieved a book. Clutched between bony, webbed, outstretched arms, it was flown down and presented. Ginny caught hold of it. With a glad, excited smile, she recalled a few details and gave command for another. Success on both counts, she hauled the pile to the counter where Palimpsest - still blank-faced - announced the total cost in a standard monotone. She paid and left, scooting past an incoming patron heading towards the door at full pelt.

The clouds began to blacken ominously and so she walked swiftly. Just as she strode past the ice-cream parlour and noticed the owner and his wife repairing smashed glass jars - the floor entirely covered in raspberry sauce and colourful sprinkles - an old acquaintance bid her good day, but the rain began to fall and so, once again, she quickened her pace to a jog. Stopping once, she took shelter in Broomstix. A sudden onset desire drew her towards ordering a revival of a Moontrimmer that just so happened to be on sale. After giving delivery instructions, she left with lighter pockets and a spring in her step, speeding off with determination despite the ongoing precipitation.

* * *

Taking the visitor's entrance into the Ministry, Ginny felt a sudden jolt of nerves. Resenting the feeling, she reminded herself that she had nothing to prove. During their time apart, she had thought long and hard about how to approach matters. Finally, she felt ready to forgive Hermione. The book, she hoped, would be a peace offering or, at the very least, an ice breaker. In some ways, Ginny wanted to start all over again. _But isn't it madness, they say, to repeat the same action multiple times and expect a different outcome? _

The telephone box descended into the Atrium. Ginny exited and made her way to Hermione's office. It didn't take long to realise she had beaten Hermione back to the Ministry, and so let herself in. Sitting down in the large, squeaky office chair she noticed the box decorated by Luna on the table. No sign of the plant, though. A thought struck home. _She's listened to my message and thrown it away_. It didn't bode well.

Nevertheless, she felt guilty for arriving unannounced and, upon hearing the sound of footsteps outside the door, leapt up and into the chair closest to the fireplace, readying herself for the sight of Hermione. Gripping the arms of the chair, she closed her eyes and attempted to control the rate of her breathing. The door handle turned and Hermione swept in casually. When they greeted one other, or more accurately, when Hermione yelped Ginny's name, it felt almost as though they should shake hands.

Disappointment hung in the air as Hermione seemed positively peeved by Ginny's presence. However, this all changed when Ginny showed her the very thing she had been searching for. Hermione's eyes lit up, but then immediately she frowned. Ginny supposed the slightly confused reaction was to be expected, but had no desire to tell her why she had been in the book shop. Not yet, anyway. In an attempt to change the tone of the conversation, Ginny sat on the edge of the desk and casually slipped in talk of spending some time together.

She hadn't actually expected Hermione to agree.

* * *

Something didn't sit right with Ginny: Hermione was clearly trying to imply to Ambra that the book had not been found and that further work was yet to be done. _Does she want the book for herself_? Ginny wondered. _That doesn't make sense; it's not in her personality to be like this._ She winced at the thought, remembering the very event between them that led to the need for forgiveness. Ginny's heart clenched as she watched Hermione try to use her body to shield the book from view. _Surely the Ministry would let her investigate with the assistance of an auror? _Ginny was so deep in thought that it completely escaped her notice that she was being talked to.

"Gin," Ambra began. "You didn't say you'd...? I mean... what?" Ginny looked over at her confused face and waved a hand frantically in an indication to not ask why she was there. Ambra - in a somewhat stilted fashion - diverted attention to a piece of borrowed jewellery. "So... are you two okay again, then?" It would seems that she couldn't help but ask, a gleeful look on her face. Ginny rolled her eyes in despair.

To her surprise, Hermione piped up. "Any differences that Ginny and I may have had are in the past," came the curt response.

"Are they? Who proclaimed that?" Ginny muttered under her breath, inaudible to the others in the room. As Ambra left, wishing them luck, a piece of parchment slipped to the floor, catching Ginny's eye; she speedily scooped it up and chased after her ditzy, but very dear friend.

"You're a confusing woman, y'know that." Ambra turned, gratefully accepting the piece of paper and stuffing it into the already bulging pile in her arms. "One minute you ask me to bring the gifty box thing because you don't want her to know you're back, and the next you're here. I thought you said you didn't want to talk to Hermione yet?"

Ginny exhaled despondently, her shoulders slumping. "Well, we sort of... bumped into each other."

"So basically you're stalking her now?" Ambra eyed Ginny curiously, a smirk gracing her lips.

"Don't be daft. It was pure luck." Ginny blinked coyly, distractedly rubbing at her earlobe and setting her earring swinging. "Or unlucky, if you think about it."

"So... are you gonna make it up, then?" asked Ambra, expectantly titling her ear to better hear the answer. "Or what?"

"For the moment I'm going with the 'or what' option."

* * *

"You're not supposed to investigate this, are you?" Ginny barked, noting how like Hermione she sounded, several years in each other's company having seeped into her character and never having seeped out again. No matter how much her mind swayed between helping and running, she was now dead set on following Hermione wherever she went. It was the dark flash in Hermione's eyes, the eagerness with which she pored over the book.

"Not _tech_nically," Hermione replied, twitchily avoiding eye contact.

"You crave trouble, don't you?" Ginny grabbed her tightly by the arm and drew her dangerously near. Her protective instincts were in overdrive; it didn't matter what had happened in the past. For now, all would need to be forgiven.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Ginny felt herself swaying towards Hermione, but managed to keep herself under control. "Taking it upon yourself to track down people involved in dark magic without informing the Ministry of your whereabouts."

"I'm perfectly capable, you know." Hermione looked directly at Ginny, the blackness slipping from her eyes until the perfect deep hazel returned.

"Yes, yes you _certainly_ bloody are." Which is exactly what worried her.

* * *

Ginny folded her arms over her chest to keep out the chill wind that was blowing briskly along the quiet London street. "Shall we go to yours?" she asked, old habits directing her internal compass.

"No, no," Hermione replied quickly, stopping Ginny in her tracks.

Ginny's mind raced, her eyes darting._ We need to sort this out. It's now or never. Time away. Time alone._

"I'd rather go somewhere we shan't be bothered by the Ministry. Perhaps -"

Without explanation or warning, Ginny disapparated, taking Hermione in tow. Feeling as though it might seem odd should she continue to hold her hand, Ginny let go almost immediately upon arrival. They stumbled away from each other, sunshine blindingly bright, despite cloudy skies.

_Now or never_.

* * *

Ginny had intended on introducing Hermione to the small house some time ago, but with matters the way they were, it never happened. Even now, it didn't seem like the right time as she grimly glanced around the shoddy interior, embarrassed on behalf of the little abode. However, she relaxed a little when Hermione announced that the study met her exacting standards. Watching her eagerly scan the book shelves made Ginny's giddy heart swell with a forlorn happiness; it was just as she had dreamt.

After making up the bed, repairing the bathroom door handle, building a fire and preparing dinner, they were both tired enough to simply rest in the living room, work nowhere on either of their minds. Ginny looked over at Hermione, her glossy, wavy hair resting softly on relaxed shoulders, arms crossed, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded. "I've missed you," Hermione said sleepily, her head slumping against the wing of the armchair.

Looking down, Ginny cheerlessly played with a secret compartment contraption that she was using as a diversion from her own distracting thoughts. She slunk down, further ensconcing herself in a grey blanket drawn around her shoulders. "I've missed you more than you could imagine." She shook her head dolefully, a lump in her throat. "So much so that it made my head physically hurt. I want to feel easy around you again." The small box burst open as she happened to hold down the correct combination of panels; it was empty. Looking up she found Hermione had already fallen asleep.

Sighing, she rose to reduce the fire to glowing embers and levitate Hermione's limp body through to the bedroom so as not to disturb her sleep. It was an awkward, and slightly sinister task to complete. After rooting about in Hermione's bottomless bag - a bag which thankfully contained items for all occasions, including, to her subtle amusement, a full ball gown and heavy-duty arctic wear - she finally found a pair of pyjamas to switch for Hermione's clothes. Slipping under the cool covers, Ginny turned onto her side and frowned at the contented look on Hermione's face as she snuggled into the duvet. Sweeping away a strand of hair from Hermione's cheek, Ginny lay watching her chest rise and fall with steady breaths before falling into an uneasy sleep herself.

* * *

**22nd November 2000**

Fingers of light streamed through the window and across the bed, flickering warmly over Ginny's eyelids. She awoke to find that she was alone. Raising her arms above her head, she arched her spine and sunk down into the pillow. The soft sound of running water was coming from the adjacent room. Turning over she remembered where she was and with whom. The dancing sensation in her stomach she put down to hunger. Reaching over to find her bag, she drew out a small glass bottle. Uncorking, she poured a drop onto her upturned fingertip and watched the potion sparkle in the morning light. "Just a little. And then that's it."

* * *

"It has to be a yes," Ginny repeated to herself. Growling, she kicked shut the door after it had bounced back at her for a second time. _What the blue blazes was I thinking kissing her and letting her kiss me back?_ "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."_ I need our friendship to work or I'll go sodding bonkers. Why am I jeopardising that? _The windows creaked with the heavy rain, while a harsh, whistling wind sucked air up the chimney and cracks of lightning lit the house like a duel was being fought in the skies. Dark, heavy, foreboding clouds made the afternoon sky look like evening. "Shit," she exclaimed, stomping into the hallway with vigor, dragging her jacket off her arms and cursing her foolish, pliable heart.

The memory of Hermione pressed down against her took her breath away even now. She raised her wet fingertips to her lips and closed her tear-filled eyes, re-living the enlivening pressure that had kicked her full in the chest and pounded deep within her pelvis. Rubbing at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, Ginny sniffed and roughly stomped excess water from her boots. At first she blamed the intensity of the spell-casting they had performed, and then she blamed the book._ It makes you look for danger, I know it does_, she reassured herself._ But she'll feel differently when this is all over, and I can't risk losing her again. _Rooting through her bag for her jumper, she found the potion bottle. She picked it up with a sneer and threw it at the wall with rage. "And you were no bloody help," she yelped as it fell to the floor and the glass cracked.

_But the kisses._ Ginny's throat bobbed at the thought of such lust-filled sweetness, and her eyes became unfocused and bleary. She wanted so much to have Hermione in her arms, to taste her skin and enjoy the pressure of her hips. Clamping her palm to her forehead, she shook her head hard as if trying to spin the memories into oblivion; to throw them into the mess of other events she wished to forget, of which there were far too many. At that moment, Hermione came waltzing in with a scowl upon her lips.

"Why are you so different, Ginny?"

_Why? Why? Why? All she ever does is ask me questions. If only she would start answering them herself. _"I had to change. I'd have never been able to get on with my life otherwise." Absentmindedly, Ginny pulled at her watch to look at its face again but was immediately distracted.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Ginny," Hermione said sardonically. "I'm obviously keeping you from something more important." She folded her arms and stood impatiently waiting for a response.

Knowing that Hermione was looking to hurt her for resisting futher kisses, Ginny instead tried to put a lid on her less helpful emotions and keep things simple. "We should get you out of those wet clothes." Her stomach tightened and she regretted the words instantly, the visual image overwhelming.

Hermione coyly changed the subject. "How did you get the book, Ginny?" she asked, her lips pressed to the knuckle of a damp, clenched fist.

Ginny resented the clear mistrust and was insulted by the implication. Equally, her presence at Palimpsest's shop at the precise moment Hermione had been there was - as she admitted herself - suspicious to say the least. For now, she would keep one or two details back and instead call it serendipity, but this served only to further the distance between them.

* * *

"_No_!" Ginny cried out to Hermione, but her words fell on deaf ears as - out of the corner of her eye - she saw a wand flash as the owner cast _Muffliato_ at Hermione's crumpled form. In a panic, she went to draw her wand but was too late as the incarcerating spell hit and her arms became bound by ropes at her back that looped around a wooden chair, drawing under her knees and forcing her to sit.

"What have you done to her?" Ginny spat, tugging pointlessly at her restraints, her pulse slamming with fear.

"Do not have concern for your friend." He looked down at her, angry and shaking, thin-rimmed spectacles partially obscuring deep-set brown eyes. "It's a sleeping draft. Death is _not_ my intent, and she _will_ recover in time." He scratched at his ear and wrinkled his nose, looking around frantically. "A deep sleep... yes. I was hoping you would both partake, but nevertheless." He shrugged and she realised that the shake of his body seemed more like a tremble.

Her heart relaxed a fraction, but it must have shown in her eyes as he tightened his features and attempted to look fierce and stepped towards her. "What do you want?" she asked, studying his face: middle-aged, dark-skinned, a scar across his chin. Not a face Ginny knew.

"The book."

"What book?" Ginny feigned ignorance.

"Come, little lady, you know exactly what I'm after. Make this easy for the both of us."

Ginny considered her options. To hand over the book could be very risky, but not to could be more so. Such powerful magic in the hands of anyone who didn't know what they were doing, or worse _did_ know, could be detrimental and dangerous on a grand scale. The greater good was at stake. "In order, _Sir_, for me to know whether I have this _book_ which you seek, you would need to tell me something of its content." Ginny attempted to out-patronise him.

He eyed her cautiously, pulling at the neck of his stiff-collared shirt. Looking like an actor might after exiting the stage, his stern character slipping away, he responded: "A book of incantations and instruction, passed down through the generations."

Unflinching, Ginny flexed her fists as the flow of blood to her fingers became painfully restricted. "But you let it out of your possession?"

"My wife… she thought we'd be best rid of it."

"Sounds like you should listen to her. Why do you want it back?" Ginny looked at him suspiciously.

"It must not fall into the wrong hands." He raised his wand.

"The wrong hands being anyone who might trace it back to you?" The question wasn't meant to be rhetorical but nevertheless he didn't answer. "Could you imagine the mental anguish someone would go through, seeing the person whose life they have given away? The guilt they must feel." Ginny watched his throat judder and his eyes dart nervously. "Whose life will you trade? Who will live a half-life because of you?"

He lowered his wand, scowling, and turned away. "It must be here." He began ransacking the cupboard, opening every door, trunk and drawer.

Ginny jostled the chair and continued to pull at the shackles despite the burn grazing her wrists. She let her line of sight drift towards Hermione for a moment, but the intruder saw and this seemed to spark an idea in him. Turning his attentions towards Hermione's sleeping form, he used the toe of his shoe to nudge her prone body onto her back and point his wand at her chest.

"Where's the book?" he said sternly. "Tell me, tell me or I'll make she _never_ wakes up."

"It's..." Ginny began, praying he was bluffing. Wandless magic wasn't something Ginny had ever become good at; she had always considered it to be beyond her capabilities. She looked at Hermione and her heart seemed to skip a beat. She recalled Hermione telling her how - at the age of eight - she had tried to practice the art of moving things with her mind, having read a fictional story of a girl who could do just that. Hours were spent on this simple mind-control act, however, much to her disappointment, it did not work. Then, one day at school - in a moment of rare frustration and emotion - Hermione's much-loathed primary school teacher received a sharp blow to the back of the head from a flying board duster.

"Yes?" he prompted impatiently.

"Hang on. I'm just trying to think where she might have put it," she replied, hoping that would make him hesitate. With as much power as she could muster, she concentrated all her energy on the open door behind him. Cursing herself for not remembering how to harness this power without an outstretched arm or wand to channel through, Ginny looked back at Hermione; time was running out. She squinted her eyes and concentrated on channelling every ounce of mental power towards this simple act. She envisioned beams of light hitting the door as might have come from a wand burst. It moved a fraction._ Yes._ A success. Ginny rested and calmed herself in readiness.

He looked eagerly at her. "Right. Yep. I know now." Ginny let the seriousness of their joint predicament wash over her, and without notice Hermione's kisses flooded back into her memory. If she could have moved, she would have shivered from the sheer power building inside. The world seem to turn, molecules, air, earth all moved in motion. Ginny felt as though she were controlling everything in the room, even down to particles of light. Suddenly, she let the world drop and with it the door slammed shut with a bang.

As the not-so-gentleman turned to find nothing behind him, Ginny raised her feet and - with a purposeful kick - shunted the kitchen table towards him. Knocked to the floor, his wand dropped from his grasp, causing just enough of a release of his power for her to shake free her fetters. She jumped to her feet and swiped his wand from the floor before he could crawl to it. "Tell me your name," she demanded as he backed away into a corner.

"You won't hurt me; you haven't got it in you," he said cockily, as he raised himself up onto his elbows.

"I don't _need_ to hurt you." Ginny uncautiously threw a curse at him.

A look of gagging nausea struck him before a stream of words began to pour out of his mouth. "It won't work, won't work, young lady, lady; because I still know exactly what I'm saying, saying." He shook his head vigorously as the babbling spell took its hold on his tongue. "The book, I need the book, you must tell me where is the book, the book. You must tell me now; for the book is for those who need it, and you can not take that from them. Life is at stake, without the book there is no life, to sustain life they who give must survive. I cannot, will not, shall not let you take them from me."

"Name," Ginny demanded again, never ceasing to lower the wand.

"Name, name, what's in a name? I know your name. I heard her say it. I know her name too; you said it. What's her name?" His eyes indicated the still silently snoozing Hermione. "A rose by any other name. A name is nothing, means nothing, a name, a name."

"I can't let you have the book."

"You will, my dear, you will, because if you don't, _they_ will take it from you, away, far away, and you shall be gone, gone from life. No mercy. So take it this way or that, either you give her the book, or you both die at the hand of _them_; the regret will be yours alone, or my name's not Maurice Prousan -" He clasped his hands over his mouth and continued to spout words, beneath clasped fingers.

_Finally._ Her ears had pricked up at the mention of his name but she was now more concerned with what action to take. She couldn't think clearly with his muffled words disrupting the silence. "Oh, do shut up, Maurice." Ginny countered with a word stifling spell.

Behind them, Hermione stirred a little and Ginny instinctively turned to check on her groaning figure. Prousan took the opportunity to race out of the room, but by unfortunate chance he ran into the study. His eyes lit up at the sight of the book on the table; lunging for it he tucked it under his arm and wrenched the sash window open. Ginny entered the room just in time to see his coat tails disappear out of sight. She watched him run through the field of swaying flowers.

To let the book out of her sight was too dangerous. She quickly ran out of the house and to an old coal shed where she hoped she would find exactly what she needed. The door was already open and the broom, as instructed, was exactly where she had requested it to be. The brown wrapping paper had been carelessly torn in its delivery to the house, but it was there and it was undamaged. Without a second thought, she tore free the wrapping and leapt on to chase after Prousan at tremendous speed.

Presuming himself to be far enough away to disapparate, he halted. Ginny swooped up behind him and jumped off, landing softly behind him and grabbing his arm forcefully. "Room for one more?"

* * *

Maurice Prousan's home may have been dark and dingy, but there was an aura of love. Ginny followed him in from the tiny kitchen where they had arrived with a bounce upon creaky floorboards. Daintily-framed stitch work lined the walls, too dusty now to make out the delicately-sewn scenes. A clothes horse surrounded the fire and lain across it were various t-shirts, trousers and socks in threadbare condition. Prousan stared at her like she was a ghost; an aberration in his lodgings that he had no idea what to do with.

Ginny recalled that her silencing curse still held his tongue and so broke it. "Don't be an idiot, Prousan." Ginny held her hand outstretched. "Give me the book."

"You don't understand. You can _never_ understand." He shifted uncomfortably around the room, chewing at his unkempt nails and tearing his hands through his short hair.

"I understand that no good can come of that book or anything invoked from it," Ginny intoned.

"This book -" he held it open "- is a life source in itself." He suddenly looked very afraid, almost shivering with fear. He dropped to his knees and pressed his palms to the pages. "Nothing," he uttered to himself.

"What?" asked Ginny warily.

"Nothing! This book is dead. This copy is false."

"I can guarantee that the book I bought is not a fake."

See for yourself. He tossed it over, almost knocking the wind out of her as it hit her stomach. If handing the book over weren't evidence enough of Prousan's belief in its useless nature then touching its pages definitely were. "You're right." Ginny felt tricked, confused, wondering if Hermione had taken the original to keep for herself. A gnawing feeling of betrayal fell from her heart and began rolling around in her stomach.

"Your friend, the girl. She has the original?"

It dawned on Ginny what Hermione must have done. Nevertheless, she drew herself up and stood her ground. "She will take it to the Ministry to be destroyed," she lied, setting the book down.

Getting to his feet, he drew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at her heart, his expression deadly serious. "I cannot let that happen."

"Don't you feel guilt? When you die, the person offered as sacrifice will too."

He shook his head wistfully, seemingly amused her naïveté and whistled over his shoulder. A wizened-looking barn owl appeared at the window. "You must write to your friend; warn her not to destroy the book. She is in danger; the Traders will follow the book, seeking a new trade or conquest, and I doubt she has yet woken." He nodded towards a table with parchment, quill and ink on it.

Ginny considered her options. Keeping a close eye on Prousan, she begrudgingly wrote the note. He read it and sent it with the bird. "This doesn't mean I'm on your side," Ginny said, eyeing him with caution.

"The war made brave children." He shook his head with wonder, slumping down into the closest chair.

"Unlike you. No one who takes a life for their own benefit is brave. Who will it be? Your wife?" Ginny spat incredulously.

"It's already been done, and he didn't do it for himself." A second male voice, much younger than Prousan, came from a doorway in the far corner of the room. "He did it for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**2nd May 2000**

Kingsley Shacklebolt's reassuring voice boomed around the Great Hall with solemn words of remembrance. The pleasant smell of smoke filled the room as a further ten candles were ceremoniously extinguished, and another row of portrait tapestries unfurled from the rafters.

"Can't you just throw her in the fireplace and floo her to St. Mungo's?" asked Ron with a wave of his hand in Fleur's direction.

"No, Ron, we can't," Hermione replied tersely, pulling Fleur's arm around her shoulders and stumbling out of the hall, distinctly flustered.

"I'd be happy to apparate her out of here," offered Harry apprehensively. Ron nodded in enthusiastic agreement as he trailed behind.

"Firstly, you can't apparate out of Hogwarts; it's restricted. You _do_ know that fact because you attended school here, Harry, though some days we really could be forgiven for thinking otherwise." Hermione drew up a chaise-longue so that Fleur could lie down. "Secondly, would you _really_ want to try a side-along apparition with yourself, another person and yet another person _inside_ that second person? Good luck with that because, to my knowledge, it's only been attempted successfully three times." Hermione was practically flapping. "You'd end up missing the baby out of the equation altogether and leave it behind," she hissed under her breath.

"Even better," said Ron cheerfully. "It'd save time."

"Ronald Weasley." Hermione eyed him angrily.

Ron shuddered involuntarily at the use of his full name. "Right, well I'm off to find Pomfrey." He wandered off, muttering to himself.

* * *

"Zis iz not very lady-like," Fleur commented, fanning herself with her hand. "Oh, Ginny!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Come 'ere and 'old my 'and."

Ginny immediately pushed her way through the gathering crowd, to find Hermione mopping Fleur's forehead with a conjured soft cloth. For a second, she stood speechless, her throat dry and limbs unmoving. Biting her lip, she stiffly obliged, slipping her hand into Fleur's soft grasp.

Hermione looked up and instantly looked rather queasy at the sight of Ginny. In an attempt to wipe away any concerns Hermione might have had about her presence, Ginny cast a weak smile and a look which said: 'We're really not the best of people to be dealing with this, are we?' Their lack of medical knowledge was not the largest of their worries. Nor was their joint despair of Fleur. Far from it. The barrier was simply a distance in character, which neither Hermione nor Ginny had ever managed to cross. Neither knew exactly how to comfort Fleur in her time of need.

"So, um, Fleur, Veela births, how does that go exactly?" Ginny asked, shifting from foot to foot and feeling as though she would really rather be in a different country right now.

"Go?" Fleur pouted and frowned prettily.

Ginny winced and flapped her hand in the direction of Fleur's bump. "Yes, I mean, is it the conventional... push, or do you have a more elegant ... method?" she asked with a grimace.

"Poosh," she replied, smoothly waving her hands down her body to indicate direction.

"Is it painful for Veela women?" asked Hermione, genuinely interested.

"Beauty iz pain, pain iz beauty," she replied without a hint of fear.

_We'll see if she feels the same way when she's halfway through the birth,_ thought Hermione, scanning the crowd, then looking to the fireplace beyond, desperately wishing for Bill to arrive. Fleur winced as a strong contraction shocked through her. Closing her eyes she breathed deeply and slowly. Hermione and Ginny felt Fleur's clenching grip on their hands tighten, both arms buckling under the pressure. They were drawn closer, staring wide-eyed at each other across Fleur's heaving chest.

A door swung open and the crowd parted. Hermione was overjoyed to see the kind face of the ever-attentive Madam Pomfrey, closely followed by Ron. "Oh, thank goodness!" she yelped overenthusiastically.

"Er, I'm going to find some food," said Ron, looking a little nauseated. "Until it's my kid, I _really_ don't want to see this."

"Right. Now, everyone. Please clear the room." Madam Pomfrey folded up her sleeves and dismissed the remaining gawkers. "Give the girl a chance for dignity. Thank you. Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, staying or going?"

Hermione went to stand up from her bent over position, but Fleur yanked her back down. "Stay. Both of you. Stay, please," she said, her brow furrowed.

"Very well," said Madam Pomfrey, as she washed her hands in a bowl of water sitting on a washstand, neither of which had been there a moment before. A medical screen on copper wheels appeared behind Ginny and stretched its way around them. Hermione glanced over with a wild stare that implied she felt like a captive. Ginny shrugged. There was no escape. "Now." Pomfrey looked down at her fobwatch and noted the time. "Fleur, isn't it? Yes, I treated you and your sister during the tournament."

"Madame," Fleur nodded.

"What have we got here?"

"She's giving birth," offered Hermione, considering the situation to be plainly obvious.

"Yes, dear, I can see that, but who is the father? Different procedures for different-"

Affronted by the question, she replied: "I'm sorry, I _really_ don't see what -"

Ginny caught Hermione's eye, wanting to help with the confusion. "Just your plain wizard human, Madam, not a vampire or, um, giant or anything. Just... my brother," she explained. Hermione's mouth formed an 'o' shape as she realised the origin of such a line of questioning. She mentally thanked Ginny and berated herself for forgetting herself at such a time, her fist tightening at her side and nose wrinkling self consciously. _So ridiculously stupid!_ She found Ginny shaking her head and giving her a look of sympathy. 'It's fine,' she mouthed, but the comfort was minor.

"Jolly good, won't be needing to cover the windows, then. I once assisted in the birth of a Veela-Vampire child - beautiful thing but very sensitive to the sun. Burst into blue flame upon greeting this world. The little thing was fine of course, but it scared the life out of me... and the parents." She dabbed a warm towel at Fleur's neck and smiled kindly at her. "I think we can handle a little Weasley today."

"Fleur, I don't think we should -" Hermione began, visibly eager to get away.

Fleur raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "I 'ave always admired you both; such strong women."

Resigned in their duty, Ginny drew up a couple of chairs either side of the chaise-longues so that they could sit down. "Is there anything we can get you?" she asked.

"You," she replied, almost sternly. "You need to stop being so proud and start talking to one anuzzer."

"I really don't know what you mean, Fleur," Hermione argued standoffishly. "Ginny and I are _fine_," she dismissed.

"You haven't spoken to me in a month!" exclaimed Ginny, offended.

"It's what we agreed," Hermione whispered.

"It's what _you_ demanded, and you never really explained why."

Fleur, who was trapped under the burgeoning argument, felt another painful contraction and sat bolt upright. Her birthing partners sat back with surprise. "Right, ladies," announced Madam Pomfrey, who had been busying herself with a cauldron of water. "Enough bickering; it's the baby's time now. Little Miss Aunt-To-Be?"

Ginny suddenly realised that that was her. A refined feeling of sentiment brewed in her stomach and subsequently glowed on her cheeks. "Yes?" she uttered proudly.

"Please assist our young lady with her breathing."

"Fleur? Fleur?" came the eager voice of Bill Weasley.

"Beel?" Fleur replied gleefully.

He flounced his way past the curtains and collapsed to his knees at her side. Hermione bounced out of the way and indicated quietly that she would leave.

Fleur, her hands grasping at Bill's cheeks, turned her loving gaze away from her husband for a moment. "'ermione?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for looking after me when ze boys didn't 'ave a clue."

Hermione nodded and left quickly. Ginny looked after her longingly, even after she was no longer in the room.

"Go." Fleur kissed the back of Ginny's hand and pushed her away. "Follow 'er."

* * *

"Hi," Hermione said weakly as she relaxed her shoulders, relieved to be away from the fracas.

Ginny laughed nervously at the late greeting. "Hi." She pulled Hermione into an awkward cuddle and held on just a little tighter than she assumed she would, her ear pressed fast against Hermione's cheek. They breathed deeply, both too traumatised to argue.

"That was really..."

"Close?"

"Yes. Close," said Hermione, smirking. "So..." Catching a solemn look on Ginny's face, she composed herself and let out a soft sigh. Sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear and rubbing at her shoulder, she closed her eyes.

There came a loud bang behind them, followed by the cheery tones of Nearly Headless Nick. "Careful there, young chap. It'll be a good few years before you can walk through walls. If you're unlucky, that is." A chill swept past Hermione's cheek. "You're proving to be something of a hazard, Miss Granger," Sir Nicholas commented as he floated past, chuckling to himself.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked, confused.

Ginny looked over at the young man who was now clutching his forehead in his hands and swearing under his breath. "You still have no idea of the effect you have on people, do you?"

"Oh, thanks," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"It was a compliment." Ginny shook her head at Hermione's uncharacteristic nescience and smiled softly.

"I don't..." She frowned, looking round to see the young man who was looking sorry for himself. "Oh. Did he -?"

"Yes."

"The wall?"

"Yes."

"Because he was looking at -" Hermione pointed at herself.

"Couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Oh." Hermione's gaze fixed on Ginny, eyes unblinking and questioning.

Ginny's breath caught in her throat as she tipped her head to one side. "What happened to us?" she asked.

At that moment, a series of extremely loud bangs - like an old car backfiring - sounded outside the castle walls, drawing crowds of people into the courtyard. Hermione and Ginny rushed to the window and threw both sides open. Eyes skyward, they watched two figures zoom past on broomsticks soaring high above the walls of Hogwarts.

"It never rains but it pours," Hermione muttered under her breath, turning her gaze to Ginny on whom she bestowed an unnoticed look of complete and utter devotion.

"Everyone has their way of dealing with pain," Ginny remarked cooly.

Together they watched Harry and Ron run into the kerfuffle of people outside, shielding their eyes with their hands they attempted to get a look at what was happening. Pink plumes of smoke poured from the tails of the two brooms, the riders flying high in fast and synchronous motion. Words began to form, hanging as effortlessly as clouds. As the first finished, another began, then a third appeared followed by the last. The words, which now read: 'Gone But Not Forgotten' lit up the dusk skies and caused a rapturous round of applause accompanied by cheers and a few grateful tears. The sky-writers flew directly towards the castle gates skimming low over the stone-built turrets, hands clasped together and raised high.

Behind thick goggles the faces were visible enough for identification: George and Angelina Weasley. They disappeared from sight just as a blinding white light burst forth from behind the castle walls. People blinked back their sight and watched as the words began to slide like soap suds on water. The crowd observed the effervescent dance, wondering if the words might change formation. With fervour they discussed other sentences which might become apparent. The pink lettering dispersed, their joint direction clear: not rearrangement, but a descent towards the still-clapping masses below.

Despite his diminutive stature, Professor Flitwick was one of the first to receive the wet slap of bubblegum on his upturned face. A flurry of splats ensued like thick hail of bright pink, blueberry-scented, sticky baubles. The captivated audience had been caught unaware, though it might be said that they should have known better.

"_Impedimenta_!" intoned a voice, wand pointing skyward, the rain of sweet smelling baubles halted. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stepped forward and pushed aside a static pink bubble with a delicate fingertip. She walked amongst the crowd who were now all standing up, shrouded in amorphous pink ponchos and looking very sorry for themselves.

* * *

Ron and Harry re-entered the building looking like they'd fallen into a vat at Drooble's sweet factory. Harry's glasses were completely covered by stretchy pink gum. Unseeing, he pointed his wand as his face, cast _Waddiwasi_ and sharply flicked his wand away. The spell succeeded, but the gum flew off and hit Ron sharply across the face, sticking to his cheek.

"Ow," Ron moaned.

"Sorry, mate," apologised Harry as he attempted to walk back inside only to find his shoe firmly attached by the heel to the ground.

Hermione pointed at her own nose and pulled a serious expression. "Ron, you've got bubblegum on your nose; did you know?" She and Ginny failed to keep straight faces and consequently burst into fits of giggles.

"Har har. A hand would be nice, y'know," he replied, unamused, raising an arm where sticky lines of gum ran from his side to his wrist, his wand coated and rendered useless.

"Sorry," Hermione rushed over to the mopey-looking pair, and began to siphon the gum into her wand; Ginny followed suit. Unfortunately for Ron and Harry, the effect was like pulling off clumps of well-stuck plasters.

"So you can help bring down a dark lord," said Ginny sarcastically to Ron, "but you can't bear someone pulling gum off your eyebrow."

"This is a lot more painful than it looks," he whinged.

"What do you think, Ginny, switching spell for itching powder?" offered Hermione.

"Or perhaps we could conjure a creature that likes the taste of bubb-"

"No, no; we're fine," Harry responded quickly, "It's not that, ow, bad. We're very grateful, aren't we, Ron?" Silence. "Ron?" he urged.

"Mmph," came the weak reply.

"So..." Harry said, attempting to make conversation in the awkward moment. "Are you two okay again, then?"

"Funnily enough, you're not the first person to mention that today," said Ginny.

"Well?" asked Ron. No reply greeted his ears. "Suit yourselves." He shrugged. "How're the Harpies, Gin? Are they missing me?" he asked, grinning wildly.

"Change of plan; I'm not training with them anymore." The three of them stared at Ginny in a state of surprise.

She acted as though it were a most minor change in her life despite it clearly being the biggest decision she had ever chosen to make. "It just... wasn't the right time."

"What?" said Hermione, who was staring dumbfounded.

"It's really good that you felt able to make that decision, Ginny," Harry said kindly.

"You can't!" Ron half shouted. "I've told everyone that my sister is going to be playing in the tournaments. I'll be a laughing stock if you don't."

"It'll be great to have you around again," said Harry, prodding Ron in the side. To his chagrin, his finger stuck fast. "Hermione's missed you; she hasn't stopped talk-" A sharp pain in his leg stopped him from talking as he realised Hermione had shot a piece of gum at his thigh. He winced and got the message.

"You can't!" Ron repeated. "How else can I hang around with the Harpies?" he bemoaned.

"I'll try out again next year," said Ginny, giving him a consolatory, if sticky, pat on the shoulder.

"May I introduce Victoire Weasley," Bill announced, wheeling in Fleur who was cooing sweetly at the gurgling infant in her arms. "Wow, what happened to everyone?" he asked, aghast.

"George," came Ginny's simple reply, which seemed to require no further explanation.

"Clear the way!" called a familiar voice from the back. Molly Weasley bustled through the onlookers like a tram through leaves. "Ginny, dear, so good to see you; you'll come to dinner won't you?" she said without pausing for breath. She kissed her daughter on the cheek as her eyes sought out her first grandchild. Upon seeing the newborn, she covered her mouth and gasped with joy. "She's wonderful." She made her way through to the front, found her husband, and clutched onto him by the sleeve of his coat. "Look, Arthur," she said, beaming proudly.

"Has Mum frightened Ron off again?" Ginny asked Harry as they found themselves shunted to one side.

"Ambra Faulken fell on him and now they're kind of stuck together. Pomfrey's gone to see what she can do."

"Isn't she McGonagall's great niece or something? He won't like that." She chuckled softly, always amused by the thought of Ron in an awkward situation.

Hermione watched with reticence, calmly viewing the happy proceedings as if it were a scene being played out in a portrait. A part of her wished that she had never decided to attend the memorial, though that would have meant not seeing Ginny; something she secretly longed for day and night. Even now she found it hard to tear her eyes away from her luscious red hair, smooth pale skin and gleaming eyes towards the excessively-inviting exit. Escape was well within her reach, but something was suddenly holding her back. Physically.

"A word?" Ginny requested vehemently, firmly holding Hermione by the elbow.

She cleared her throat. "Of course," she replied against her own better judgement.

Ginny gently slipped her hand into Hermione's, causing her stomach to flip hard. "Come with me."

"You can't apparate on Hogwart's grounds. Why am I constantly having to remind people of that?"

"I'm just holding your hand, Hermione. Now come on." She tugged her companion away to a place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Ginny, it seemed, required them to be quite alone.

* * *

Streams of ethereal light cut through the slow-moving, dust-speckled air and shone upon a collection of herbology books, the spines of which Ginny was distractedly perusing. "Harry said you missed me," she commented, turning in her heel. "Where'd you go?" she called out, scanning left and right along the library aisles.

Up a wheeled ladder attached to a very high history stack, Hermione was fully engaged in searching along the top row. "They never have it," she sighed, quite agitated by its repeated absence. "I must have looked high and low for it, _several_ times a year. It's just never there."

"What is it you're after?" Ginny politely called up from the bottom of the ladder.

"'Squibs Who Changed Muggle History' by Wilfred Wintermark."

"_Please_ come down and talk to me, Hermione," she called, clearly trying not to let her impatience show.

"Bit busy at the moment." _It's got to be here somewhere. Damned thing. _

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Come down and I will _personally_ find you a copy of that book."

"Don't be silly; you'd never find it. It's probably the only copy in existence and it will have been blown up or fed to flob-"

"I _promise_," came the serious guarantee.

Hermione's heart plummeted on hearing the kind, insistent proposition. Guilt welled in her chest, but she masked it as much as possible. "Very well," she conceded, swiftly beginning her descent. To her shock, her foot slipped off the penultimate rung. Ginny instinctively grabbed at her waist and slunk her arms around Hermione's middle to support her as she stepped down with a whimper. Startled, Hermione uttered a quiet: "Sorry," as her shoes tapped down softly upon the floor.

"What for? Falling on me?"

Hermione steadied herself, freeing herself from Ginny's hot grip in order to turn and face her. "No. Well, yes, but no." Hermione tilted her head down and looked at Ginny through her eyelashes. "For ignoring you."

"Harry said you missed me," Ginny repeated with clear determination.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "Things haven't been the same without you." _I_ _haven't been the same without you._

"You didn't you reply to any of my letters."

Of course, she had read every single one repeatedly, clinging to them with maudlin abandon, but misguided logic and reason had given her no means to reply. Hermione had wanted to stand by her decision; she wanted to feel strong. "You know that I couldn't." She shook her head solemnly.

"Couldn't?" Hands out to her sides, Ginny shook her head, fast becoming riled. "No, I don't know that. I have no idea why... why you've just been tormenting me for the past month."

Her eyes darted. "Ginny, I... I never meant to do that. It was never my intention."

"It's been the worst month, and that's saying a lot considering the shit we've been through."

"Please don't say you gave up your position in the team because of me." Hermione winced.

In a state of pent up frustration, Ginny put her hand to her head to sweep her hair back from her eyeline. "I'm not blaming you, but you _were_ the reason."

Hermione clenched her jaw and frowned. "I'm sorry."

"It just proved to me that I'm not ready yet."

"Ready to be in the league?"

Ginny shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, not even quite sure herself. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. I took a bludger to the head because I couldn't concentrate."

"Oh." Hermione stepped closer, concern blazing across her face. Her fingertips lightly danced across Ginny's forehead. It was just a moment, but it said more than words ever could.

"What were you really going to tell me that night?" Ginny's eyes fluttered shut for a second. "The night of Fred..." she caught her mistake. "George's birthday."

"I... I told you; it was about the new job."

"Don't lie to me. I've been playing it over and over in my head."

Hermione made tight fists with her hands, her heart steadily increasing the pace of its beat. "I was going to say that... that I was confused about my feelings," she swallowed with difficulty, "towards you."

Ginny paused as if she had been expecting the revelation and then stated: "Well, I'm not."

"You see now why we couldn't speak!" Hermione's mouth fell open with shock. _She knew all along._ "These unrequited feelings, they're not fair on you." Her eyes glazed over with tears. As she composed herself, she held her forefinger to her lips, holding back other words unsaid. "You see why I couldn't say anything. Why I shouldn't see you."

Grabbing Hermione's wrists, Ginny looked her directly in the eye and said: "You said you're confused by the feelings you have?" A nod. "And I said I'm not. The feelings _I_ have don't confuse me."

"You're angry with the way I've behaved," Hermione sighed. "I understand that. You have every right -"

Ginny shook her head. "I'm not angry. Maybe I should be, but I'm not." She began to speak more softly. "Hermione, I want to be with you."

There was an extended silence, loaded with possibility. A three o'clock chime echoed out and somewhere a door slammed. Hermione observed as Ginny wet her lips in anticipation of her response. "With as in...?" She dared not hope, but somewhere at the back of her mind, her subconscious demanded the truth be it good or bad, though it seemed all too incredible to have such a wish fulfilled.

"With as in... with." Ginny gripped more firmly at Hermione's wrists, her expression one of great sincerity.

Hermione's tears turned to those of joy; her chest swelled with relief. "Well, if I'd known _that_-"

"You'd have kissed me?" asked Ginny, buoyant with hope.

_Oh God. Oh gosh. _A fire in her belly took light at these words of such casual intimacy. "I don't know if I'd have gone that far," she replied shyly.

Ginny smiled widely. "I would." Tentatively, she inched closer, leaning in to kiss softly at Hermione's cheek, then the corner of her upturned mouth.

Listening to her own ragged inhalation of excited breath, Hermione stood in silence. This time awe fed her thoughts as they gazed upon one another. Ginny ceased the hold on her arms. As Hermione leant in, seizing the opportunity, she slid her hands into Ginny's hair, teasing at the nape of her neck. Lunging forward, she carefully drew Ginny into a tender yet nervous kiss. As sweetness turned to the fulfilment of a long-standing desire, the space between them diminished. Light nudging kisses became full and heavy, speaking volumes of their mutual, heightened yearning. Ginny pressed herself against Hermione's body and they fell hard against the shelves, knocking a few books to the floor. For once, Hermione didn't mind quite so much that she had been proven wrong: they should never have stayed apart. "Never let me push you away again," she demanded into Ginny's mouth.

"I promise," Ginny replied, breathing hotly against Hermione's cheek as they sank to the floor, their legs unable to sufficiently take the shake of nerves. "Never again."

* * *

**22nd November 2000**

A deafening buzz filled Hermione's senses. Blackness. Then... something. It was approaching; she could feel it. Wind tore down the underground tunnel as the train's light grew large and blinding. Pushing forward, she unstuck herself from the tiled, arched wall, and crossed the empty platform. Dizzy and stumbling, she stepped forward to press the square panel and fumbled her way through the metal sliding door. Met with accusatory glares, she struggled to remain upright and so fell into the nearest seat, pulling at her unkempt skirt to cover her knees.

Fumbling around in her thin coat pocket, she found a ticket and her purse, stuck to the back of which was a leaf. Upon closer examination she found it was a four leaf clover. Anger burned inside her as she crushed it between her thumb and forefinger before stuffing it back in her pocket. Wandless, she felt vulnerable. After rubbing at her eyes, her fingertips came away smudged with make-up. The steady rocking motion made her eyelids feel heavy, commanding a deep sleep, so she focused hard on her dull, distorted reflection in the curved glass opposite, her pathetic darkened face staring back her, tears welling in pity not empathy. Full of regret, she began to cry softly, her lower lip shaking almost imperceptibly.

A man sitting at the far end of the row, just out of her field of vision, leaned forward and began talking to her, his face kind and caring. But the noise in her ears prevented any kind of understanding. She looked at him, puzzled, and was about to apologise when the carriage began to shake violently. Only Hermione appeared aware; all other passengers were oblivious and they chatted frivolously, laughed gaily or slowly turned the pages of a novel. She stood up, grabbing the pole as the shaking increased. She shouted a warning, but they did not respond, her presence now invisible. The buzzing noise ceased. The train had stopped. So too did the people as they became frozen in mid-movement like wax works. Running to the adjoining door, Hermione tugged pointlessly at the handle.

A clang, like a bell, rang out. Waking from the strangely realistic dream with a start, Hermione instantly noticed the dull ache of her jaw. She felt distinctly bruised, though there seemed to be no significant bodily damage done. Giddily pulling herself up onto her elbows, she reacquainted herself with her surroundings as furniture and wall-hung pictures seemed to float back into place, settling as her vision adjusted to the light. Outside, the rain had stopped but darkness was falling. "Ginny?" she called out, nervously, stroking her painful cheek. "What was in the drink, Ginny?" she asked, remembering the broken glass upon the floor. Despite blurred vision she could see from the wall clock that at least an hour had passed. Rising slowly and supporting her back, she went to the study cabinet to check for the book; it was still there, but the duplicate copy was gone. Fears confirmed, she was now certain that Ginny was up to no good.

"You don't understand the danger, Ginny," she said aloud to the empty house. "You just don't understand."

* * *

Evening was fast approaching and Hermione was fretting; she had waited for as long as she felt able. Placing the genuine copy of the book into her charmed bag - which folded small enough to fit snugly into the pocket of her coat - she paced through to the living room. A ragtag set of pots and tins lined the mantelpiece. "Aha," she cried with relief upon finding an old turkish delight box messily-labelled 'floo powder'. Plunging her hand inside to grab a handful, her knuckles grazed the bottom: it was empty. Clucking her tongue, she tried to remember if she had a pouch packed.

Tapping her pocket, she considered the fact that she did not even know where this house was. This wouldn't prevent her from travelling, but subsequently she would not be able to come back to check if Ginny had returned. Questions flooded her mind. _Where did you go, Ginny? _Unsure how to track her down, Hermione decided to wait for new light since darkness was already falling. Cold air blasted through the hallway, scattering old newspapers and whipping at the curtains. Hermione jumped when the wind blew the study door shut with a loud bang, caused by the window being open. Suddenly she remembered the clang that woke her. A process of elimination brought her to the front door. In the large, old cauldron just outside, she found a string-tied note that was fully addressed to the house. _Well at least I know where I am now. _

Hermione hastily unravelled the parchment. It read: 'H - I know you have the original copy of the book; do not destroy it. The Traders are beyond magic, and they will not let you stand in their way. It is not safe. I will return for you. G.' _Return for the genuine copy of the book, you mean_. "And nothing of what happened or where you suddenly went!" she murmured to herself. Pursing her lips, she folded the note carefully and placed it in her back pocket. She had no choice but to wait for Ginny to return. The book was safe for now, but the words concerned her and Hermione was keen to question Ginny's motives.

* * *

The air was thick with the scent of Memmities, a flower the colour of poppies, said to bloom upon the anniversary of battles long ago fought. From the study, Hermione looked across the swathes of red washed fields stretching out towards the recalled Ginny's words while observing the rolling wind pushing and sculpting the meadow like waves on water. _They're beyond magic. What does that even mean? _Wondering whether the Traders, had they indeed returned, would be able to penetrate the protective spells she had set up around the house, Hermione resolved to keep watch for a time, nervously anticipating discovery.

Hours passed, the sun set and Hermione shivered in the chill night air. She poked at the fire, keeping it alive. After endlessly pacing around the study, she pulled the chair over to the window. Sitting, she covered herself in an ugly, coarse blanket_, _praying that something would alert her to any foes in the field. As her head bowed in submission to tiredness, her wand rolled out of her hand and rattled its way across the floor. An uneasy sleep followed as Hermione dreamt that the chair was creaking with every move.

* * *

A sort of 'clack' noise made her stir. Blinking awake just as a second sound came knocking at the window, Hermione noticed the absence of her wand and so fell to her knees, scrabbling around. She swept it up shortly after the a third clack came, and this time the window pane cracked and caused her to wince. Cautiously, she peered over the top of the sill. On the periphery, a silhouetted figure appeared, but within seconds the person was gone. Then another figure, larger and more dominant, raised their arm in a posture of attack. Their point of aim was the house. Hermione closed her eyes and made fists with her hands. A myriad flash in the distance. A 'pop' and she disappeared.

* * *

The soft grass underfoot was a refreshing change. "_Lumos._" Dew kicked onto Hermione's ankle boots as she walked up to the entrance of the currently vacant Shell Cottage. Wondering how the Trader, if indeed that is who it was, had found her, she entered the house and brushed her shoes on the mat. If the book was so easy to trace then she would not be safe here either. Her mind raced. _Was the other figure Ginny? Is she in collusion with them? Did she lead them to the house? _It made her sick to think such things, but facts could not be denied. Finding her thin coat to be an insufficient barrier to the chilly night air,Hermione found a thick dark blue velveteen cloak hanging in the porch. She swept it around her shoulders, pinning the clasp tight; it thoroughly warmed her and the familiar scent of flowers made her feel safe.

The house was bitterly cold and lifeless. Spotting a tartan blanket, she picked it up and lay it before the empty grate. After starting a fire, she gathered as many relevant books as she could find, and set to work. Regardless of Ginny's words, her intent was purely focused on the destruction of the book. It was the only thing that could guarantee Ginny's safety. And that was all that mattered.

* * *

It wasn't long before sleep took hold again. She hadn't intended for it to happen, but the warmth of the fire - now barely lit embers - had lulled her into a much-needed nap. Footsteps on the creaking floorboard alerted her to another presence. Patting the space beside her, she found that both her drawstring bag and the book were gone. The sun had not yet begun to rise up from behind the sea and she carelessly tripped as she ran out of the house. Shooting a shimmer of light into the sky that illuminated a one hundred metre radius, first she noticed two deep lines of molten grass, but no vehicle. Then, through the morning mist, the thief emerged into plain sight.

Hermione's heart sank as she watched Ginny stop, swivel on her heel and look back at her. "I can explain," she shouted, her wand raised in a gesture of surrender.

"_Expelliarmus_," Hermione screamed back.


	4. Chapter 4

**12th August 2000**

"I have something for you," Hermione called from the back door of Shell Cottage, which had been vacated by Bill and family while they were in France for the rest of the year. "I'll just fetch it." Shegrabbed the object joyfully, despairing at her uncharacteristically poor organisation.

"You spoilt me enough yesterday!" Ginny exclaimed while looking up at the white clouds floating across the pink-tinged sky as she lay on a tartan picnic blanket that tickled the backs of her bare knees.

"Don't worry," Hermione said more quietly as she approached, her love for Ginny growing with every passing second. "It's a practical gift."

Ginny tipped her head back so as to feel the sea breeze against her face and neck. Her eyes flicked open as Hermione approached to stand over her. _Hello, gorgeous_,she thought, but left it unspoken. "When is a gift from you ever not practical?" she jibed, pulling Hermione down, liquid almost sloshing free of the glasses that she was carrying. They giggled, eyes shining with contentment.

"Here," said Hermione as Ginny sat up and snuggled into her side to kiss lightly at her neck. She proffered the box, which was barely more than a handful in size. "I can't believe I left it here. You make me forget things, Ginny Weasley, and that's very naughty."

Ginny smirked, pulling aside the neat wrapping paper and tucking it into the picnic basket to prevent it from floating away. A black box had been revealed, upon which 'Tempus et Temperamentum' was inscribed in ornate silver text. Easing it open, she looked inside to find two differently styled watches. "One for each wrist?" she joked, earning her an unimpressed stare.

"Stop teasing! You're almost as bad as your brothers sometimes," trilled Hermione, nudging her shoulder against Ginny's and casually sliding her fingertips along the hem of Ginny's shorts. "One for you, one for me. They're interlinked." Hermione picked one out and clasped it around Ginny's wrist. "It's silly, really," she added quickly.

"I'm sure it isn't silly. What do you mean... linked?" Ginny glanced at the watch face; in a clean line - set more centrally than the numerals - the words: 'nervously aflutter' were spelt out in cursive black script.

"Well..." Hermione offered her own wrist, ready for Ginny to place the remaining watch, which said: 'happily curious'. "Have you ever heard of a mood ring?" Ginny shook her head. "They're a silly piece of muggle jewellery that changes colour with temperature; they say: 'Oh it's black; that means you're tense' or 'Amber means you're -'"

"In love?"

"Good try. I was thinking of unsettled."

"Ah. What colour for in love?" she asked cheekily, leaning over to kiss Hermione's inner wrist slowly and watch goosebumps rise on her arm.

"I'm not quite sure, really," Hermione murmured with satisfaction as Ginny slipped her watch on, sliding the strap around and fastening the clasp tight. "It depends on the manufacturer," she added, her pupils expanding at her growing satisfaction, then shrinking as she focused unblinking on the breathtaking sunset.

"So how does it work? Does it tell me how I'm feeling?" Ginny smiled to herself and began running her hands through the haphazard curls of Hermione's windswept hair. It wasn't that she was naive of advanced timepieces - after all, the Weasley family clock was one - but she evidentially wanted to see Hermione's elation upon explanation.

"This," Hermione tapped the watch on her own wrist gleefully, "tells _me_ how _you're_ feeling, so that wherever you are I can see that you're all right. The reverse also applies, so you can check on me, if you so wish. Plus... it tells the time with perfect precision."

"Always a bonus," joked Ginny. "Where on earth did you find them?" she asked, trailing her finger over the watch strap lovingly, the style being very much her own. Hermione's disposition was currently described as: 'pleasantly relieved'.

"Oh... I had a little word with the Horology Tocks Workshop and they said -"

"This is your invention, isn't it?" interrupted Ginny, a distinct note of excitement in her voice.

Hermione bit her lip while considering whether a positive answer would be seen as blowing her own trumpet. She glanced at her own watch for reassurance, it read: 'genuinely proud'. "I think you must already know the answer," she replied, giving a self-satisfied, crooked smile.

Ginny slid her hand into Hermione's grasp and leant forward. With her free hand, she held Hermione's cheek, letting first her fingertips and then her lips gently brush and tease the area behind her ear. Just as Hermione's eyelashes began to flutter, Ginny turned her wrist to look at her watch. She saw the words: 'tremendously titillated' and grinned. "Who knew?" she said, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. "I'll remember that."

"What? What does it say? Knew what? Remember what?" Hermione tussled with Ginny, attempting to pull her arm around to see. "I'm starting to regret this now."

They rolled over, Ginny topping Hermione and pressing her firmly into the grass. Out of breath, they ceased their playful struggle, and let the low sun warm their bodies. Hermione ran her fingers through Ginny's soft silky hair and kissed her purposefully on the lips.

"Thank you," Ginny whispered against Hermione's shoulder as their legs became entangled and passions rose. Out of sight, both watches ticked on another minute and changed their displays to: 'blissfully enamoured'.

* * *

**22nd November 2000**

Now outnumbered, Ginny felt the need to tighten the hold on her wand, running her thumb up and down the polished wood to reassure herself that defensive spells were very much a valid option. Her line of sight shifted towards the exit, then back to Prousan.

"Stop pretending, Dad," came the voice behind her. "It's getting stupid." The boy, who was a little fairer skinned and far more slight in frame than his father, stood in the doorway and leant against the door jamb. Despite being no more than fourteen, he was already taller than Ginny. "He summoned them to save my life," came his exposition. "The idiot gave his own in the bargain."

"_Owen_," Prousan chided.

Nevertheless, he continued. "They killed my mother because she tried to get rid of the book. Now they follow me day and night; they lurk in the street while I sleep, waiting and praying for the day I die - hoping some freak accident will take me - so that their contract is complete and they can take him too." He ruffled a hand through his thick hair; heavy shadows encircled his cloudy, grey eyes.

Ginny looked from one to the other. "Is this true?"

Prousan brought his hand up to his face to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids that had now become red-rimmed. "Yes," he uttered through an emotionally-wrought, shuddering breath. "Which is why I need the book; if someone destroys it, who knows what will happen to Owen." He glanced at the duplicate copy. "I might as well toss that in the fire," Prousan commented, wiping at his cheeks with his shirt sleeve.

"No." Something was telling her to keep it. "Just... put it to one side. Please."

With a nonchalant shrug, he gave Ginny gave an affirmative. "Tell me. Did you read from the original?"

"We avoided reading anything aloud."

Prousan once again became nervous and fidgety, biting at the nails of his shaking hands. Rising to pull at the moth-eaten net curtains, he said: "That may not be enough." A glimmer of flickering shadow on the pavement far below caught his eye. "I really don't think you should be here. They may see you as a threat, Miss Weasley."

Ginny's defences rose immediately. "How do you know my name?"

"Just _go_." He approached fast, grabbing her at the waist and spinning her out of the room. He bustled the broom into Ginny's arms and slammed the rickety door in her face. "Go!" he shouted from beyond the door. "Find your friend, but keep the original book safe. They are more dangerous with the book destroyed; without the power of bargain they have only their indiscriminate methods. Bring it to me and I guarantee to keep it safe. Bring it here to Abbeysim Alley."

The voice faded into mutterings; he continued to rant but his words went unheard by her. _Abbeysim Alley? Is that where I am? Again? Seriously? _Noting the number on the door of Prousan's rooms, Ginny sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before the faint tap of footsteps upon the stairs startled her. Holding the broom like a staff she turned thinking only of Hermione and the house.

* * *

Bang. Like a slap to the face, a brutal force hit her and she tumbled backwards: a painful dismount from what should have been a smooth apparation. "What the... ?" Ginny picked herself up off the dirt track. It would seem she had been bounced away from her target to find herself a good thirty feet from the house. Marching forward, she found the edge of the barrier. _What the...?_ Ginny thought. _She's left me no bloody way to get back in. I knew this would happen. Why doesn't she trust me?_

By the time the sun had fully set, the lack of light in the countryside made it near impossible to see. Ginny used the glowing tip of her wand to read her watch. The words: 'fitfully dreaming' were of minor comfort. Quickly hopping on the broom, she flew steadily along the perimeter, leaning forward, the handle almost ploughing into the soft soil, flower heads bouncing off the toes of her boots. Bending over, she scooped up a clutch of stones, experimentally tossing one at the barrier. It sailed through.

Prousan's words had worried her. Yet despite no evidence to confirm that the Traders would successfully track her, Ginny didn't feel able to take any chances. After a time circling the house, she saw Hermione by the study window, asleep. Hovering above the ground, she watched for a second, wind blowing at her hair and jacket. She paused and breathed deeply, taking mental aim. Tossing one of the stones high in the air, she swung the broom in a tight circle and, with a stern whack, the broom bristles made contact and sent the falling pebble spinning off towards the front door.

"I'm out of practice." She shook her head, dismayed. On the third go it squarely hit the window pane. "Yes!" she cried triumphantly, fist in the air. "Come on, Hermione, wake up." She watched Hermione disappear out of sight. Holding her chest in relief, she tipped her head back to send thanks to the stars. To be sure Hermione would look out, she sent another stone flying, then another, becoming all the while dizzier. Nothing was happening and the faint arc of twinkling light over the house proved the barrier was still in place.

Running her fingers through her messy hair, she bit her lip and pondered her situation. "What now?" The broom beneath her stopped hovering; it felt heavy between her knees and sluggish to manoeuvre. She sank lower as if dragged down by invisible arms. The harsh night air slowed to a gentle breeze, and the back of Ginny's neck began to tingle strangely. She pulled the broom around and found herself looking directly at an ominous, dark shape that blocked out the moon's light. Air caught in her throat. Instinctively, she kicked the ground and pushed herself back and, though horrified, looked harder.

The being - for it could not be said to be human - had a face, body and clothes, but all flickered and changed, stretching and distorting like a reflection in oily, rippling water. Ginny found herself momentarily mesmerised by the creature and its many forms; men, women, children, clothed as per the era in which their lives were given up, and all bearing the same rictus expression, pinned to ever-changing lips. Something snapped in her mind as she realised her predicament, frantically pulled the broom handle sharply towards her, and flew up vertically. A burst of light guided her way into the skies.

Unwilling to let go, despite chafing winds and increasingly uncontrollable speed, Ginny held on, not daring to look back, her heart continually throbbing and aching with fear for Hermione's safety. After a while she slowed, levelled off and chanced a look behind her. She had not been pursued. Ginny didn't even know how they moved or whether they could apparate, or even fly like ghosts do. Her chilled hands began to lose their grip on the broom handle. Sitting back, she relaxed a little, her eyelids gently dipping as the broom bobbed up and down over tall trees. She dozed off for a few seconds before she awoke to be faced with a pair of bright yellow, wide eyes that seemed to belong to Ambra's owl, perched on the end of the handle. _Aetos? I must be dreaming. _Swerving, Ginny temporarily lost control, descending into the dense forest. The bird failed to follow.

Tree branches came thick and fast and despite her best efforts to shield herself, her way forward was buffered by a series of blows. Head down, she pulled back hard, but the broom was already damaged enough to send her cascading towards the ground. A jarring halt came as Ginny crashed into a vast oak tree and was thrown aside and into a pile of dewy leaves. The broom, having taken the brunt of the impact had split down half the length of the handle and was massively splayed at the tip. She picked it up and winced as a splinter dug it's way into her palm. "Ow, fucking hell," she growled, sucking at the wound and picking herself up for the second time that day. _Typical,_ she thought, examining her ripped sleeves and grazed arms. With a moment to think, she once again thought of Hermione and tried not to cry. "Oh God, please be all right," she gasped.

Composing herself, she apparated from the wood to the coast.

* * *

"Surely they'd have a old broom here?" Ginny muttered to herself, wiping her eyes and throwing down her irreparably damaged one. On opening the porch door, she found that her spare cloak was missing. She looked around bemused and flustered and could only presume she'd left it somewhere else, so she dragged on an old pale grey woollen knee length coat, which, by its pristine condition, clearly belonged to Fleur. _What now?_ she thought. _Wherever I go, they'll follow._ She felt so alone. Having grown up in such a busy household, being alone wasn't exactly something Ginny was comfortable with. For the first time that day, Ginny wished for a companion. She also required rest, but stopping didn't feel like a wise option. There had to be a solution.

* * *

The noise came first. Then wheels flashed into view. Stopping abruptly, the front-right side of the purple bumper touched the tip of Ginny's outstretched wand. Gratefully, she ran round to the back and leapt onto the Knight Bus to find a greasy slouched youth, wearing a stained conductor's cap and grotty jacket, leaning casually against the stairwell, tinkering with his ticket machine.

"Where's your next stop?" Ginny asked breathlessly.

The conductor didn't look at her. "Ern," he called to the front, where Ernie was using all his weight to change gears while they blindly drifted downhill. "Where's next?"

"Where's here?" he responded gravelly, screwing his face up and looking back via a greasy mirror.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Tinworth."

"Uttoxeter, then," he replied with a perfunctory nod.

"That'll do," she said under her breath as she pulled out a handful of sickles. "I'll have the works please."

"S'gone up," the conductor said noncommittally.

She sighed with exasperation. "Will this do for travel, then?"

"Yep," he replied, nonchalantly pulling the coins from her hand and putting a crumpled ticket stub in their place.

"Thanks," she replied through habit. Climbing the stairs, she slunk into one of the deep arm chairs, tired and hungry.

"He's a Shunpike," came a voice from the other side of bus.

"I noticed the family resemblance," she replied, nodding sullenly.

"And I'm afraid the price hasn't gone up." Vincent Falondroit, a long-haired, sallow-skinned gentleman of some considerable age approached, unsteady on his feet as the bus leaned over onto two wheels with little regard for gravity. He held up a drink. "Here." He swiftly conjured a clean blue mug. Holding them both in one hand he cast a charm to pour his hot chocolate into the new mug, barely reducing the level of his own.

"Thanks. You don't know how much I need this." Ginny looked down to the frothy, lilac-brown liquid and appreciated the warmth of the cup against her cold hands. Now seated, she found herself trembling from shock; every breath she took was gulped down with a shudder. The hot liquid did little for her nerves.

"Are you quite all right?" You look like you've had a bit of a tumble."

"Could say that. I'm fine though, really, just a few scuffs and scratches. I've had worse playing Quidditch." _Especially_, she considered, _when I had been thinking about Hermione. _With trepidation she twisted her wrist and peered at her watch. It read: 'highly irritable', which, frankly, had often been Hermione's state of mind in Ginny's experience. _Phew_.

Falandroit nodded slowly and smiled weakly before drawing up a chair to sit near her. His pale face matched his sad eyes. He wouldn't have looked out of place in a darkened corner of Knockturn Alley, but seemed kind enough. A willow wand was strapped to his thigh by a leather harness, at which his hand tapped repeatedly.

"Ginny Weasley." She thrust out her hand to shake his and he cautiously reciprocated. His palms were almost frictionlessly smooth.

"Vincent Falandroit," he responded slowly, smiling awkwardly and with a squint as the bus lights flashed.

The warmth from an under seat heater burning pleasantly at the backs of Ginny's legs reminding her that she was in a relatively safe situation and so could relax. For now. For a minute.

* * *

"Bugger," she said, wrenching her eyes open and shifting her slumped position. "Sorry. Was I asleep long?" Ginny sat up straight and rubbed at the small of her sore back and whiplashed neck.

Falandroit smiled. "Barely twenty minutes. I think you needed it. Going anywhere nice?" he asked politely, like a tourist on a holiday coach.

"No. More... taking sanctuary from something I don't quite understand yet." She frowned deeply, noting the double meaning in her sentence, and taking a long sip of her now tepid drink before sinking back into the armchair. She had no idea what reception she would receive from Hermione when next they would see each other.

He looked back at her with weary, crystalline eyes. "The world is more full of strange and wicked things than you or I can ever comprehend," he uttered quietly with a note of wisdom.

Ginny responded with a nod, unsure of whether his loyalties lay towards the dark or the light. "Tell me about it," she commented, stretching with a wince.

"Not to be presumptuous, but might I be of assistance to you?" He leant forward, cupping his hands over his knees. "These days the years wear on, and I often find myself useful to fellow travellers."

Her shoulders and mouth shrugged in unison. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know what I'm dealing with yet."

"I'm very good at maps. I could conjure any route you might need? I've a more extensive knowledge of our capital than your typical London cabbie," he scoffed, a loneliness revealing itself in his expression.

"That's very kind of you but I'm not even sure where I'm trying to get to, Mr Falandroit."

He looked perplexed. "My dear, you don't seem to know what you're doing at all."

Ginny sat up and looked past the wing of her chair, out of the window. A stingray happily suctioned onto a glass pane as the bus bumbled across the seafloor of some deep body of water. "I'll think of something."

"From what do you seek sanctuary, may I ask?" He peered at the bloodied wounds on her arms, before tapping at his head and subsequently pulling from his waistcoat pocket a teardrop vial of potion. "A violent party?" He tenderly passed the vial over. "It's safe; I carry it because I have a great granddaughter who likes to climb trees." He watched as Ginny dabbed a little on a scratch to test. The stinging subsided, so she continued to apply to other areas.

Ginny sucked at her lower lip, wondering whether to divulge. "Have you... ever heard of the Traders?" She gave a little description of the myth.

"Indeed. I think you can already tell I'm no spring chicken; I've seen and heard many things. I once read stories of them to my children." He clutched his hands together. "Are you attempting to summon them? I think that would be unwi-"

"Gosh no! No. Not me, anyway. I would never... no." She seemed to have him flummoxed again. Using no names, she told of Prousan and his son, Owen, and their predicament and desperation. However, she did not mention Hermione's part. "I think I'm in danger, or at least -" she let out a long sigh "- whoever has the genuine copy of the book now is in danger."

"I knew them."

"You said." Ginny drained the rest of her drink, set the mug down with a chink and watched it slide to the other side of the table.

"I knew them when they were human, Ms Weasley."

She shook her head with confusion. "Sorry?"

"A greedy bunch. A cult of men and women who took things too far."

Her eyes sprang wide. "You mean, you knew the people who created the creatures?"

"No, dear, I knew the people who _became_ the creatures." He pinched his nose and squeezed shut his eyes. "It was in the '40s. 1840s, that is. London." Ginny studied him closely: his drawn face was not that of an old man, after all, but of a young man whose features had been worn by time. "Ambrose Malachoid -" he continued "- was my most ingenious of medical students. Such potential for greatness. But where lies superior intelligence must also lie a choice." He shook his head, sweeping his hand through his hair, which was the colour of unicorn mane; silver with ephemeral rainbow flashes. "The easy way, or the hard way," he went on to explain. "The dishonest way or the truthful way. For Ambrose the choice was made by his younger brother, Antrobus: an overbearing lout with barely a magical bone in his body. Antrobus sought ultimate power and eternal life. All those things that sound good to the avaricious ear, but you and I know how they're not what they're cracked up to be." He swallowed and a grimace revealed a sharp canine tooth; suddenly his pallid skin-tone made sense.

"Yes," she breathed, completely enthralled.

"They, and a group of their peers, proclaimed that they would herald a new era. I never contemplated that they would sink to the lowest of the low to find success. Who would? They were healers and alchemists and scholars." Pain showed in his expression. "Fame. Greed. Drawn towards soulless experiments. Drugged by power. They were unable to control the forces that they were dealing with. It engulfed them and they became higher beings, drawing life energies from the very air around us."

"And they began killing?"

"No. Not then. They were much revered. Good citizens who helped the helpless. Heavenly, glowing bodies who went among the people. They appeared as saints, healing the sick and reviving the near-dead."

"_Brace yourselves_," Ernie shouted from the front of the bus as clumps of seaweed flopped up and down, stuck beneath the windscreen wipers. The bus suddenly tipped back as they travelled vertically up the cliffs of Dover. Bracing belts appeared and strapped them to their seats. Falandriot's mug danced off the table and, despite tight restrictions, Ginny dragged out her wand and froze it mid spill.

"Very good for one so young."

"S-so-..." she attempted to continue their conversation, her voice shuddering uncontrollably with the shaking of the bus. "Wh-hat ha-happened?" The nose of the bus hung in the air, pointing skyward, before falling forward; they watched as the landscape returned to a standard horizontal. The belts slipped away from their waists and the journey continued in a comparatively normal, almost conventional, fashion.

Falandroit plucked his drink from the air, scooping the contents back into the mug as if it were ice-cream. "The genie's curse. Whatever you want to call it. Every action has a reaction. They were weakening. Their good samaritan acts had caused their own strength to be sapped. Helping others was costing them their lives. And so they moved onto stripping energy from the elements. London began to - for want of a better word - wilt; the more they took from the skies, the more the trees and shrubs shrank away. Even the air tasted empty. Bitter and resentful, they resorted to using animals and creatures; fauna kept on the brink of life while they absorbed the power gleaned necessary to remain godlike. Ambrose, though, poor boy, refused to follow suit and - despite knowing his time was near - continued to heal the needy using his own life source alone." He pursed his lips and looked down at his hands wistfully. "One night he came to me because my eldest daughter was so very ill. By this time he was an actual shadow; a bare physical presence, which fluttered like a blown flame. As he laid his hands upon her, she was revived, but he faded into the ether and was no more."

"When did the killing begin?" Ginny asked, accepting a HobNob held out by her new friend. Her hunger was evidenced by the speed at which she consumed it, so he passed over the rest of the pack and demanded that she keep it.

"Antrobus' concern that he too would evaporate into nothing made him particularly fearful. The rest of the group convened after Ambrose was gone; some agreed to continue their selfless deeds, while the rest -" his body sagged "- the rest, in their desire for eternal greatness, banded together. Where they could give, they could also take away. A life for a life. It began as a fair trade: extended life for one person upon the promise that another would be given up when the first had ended."

"And then they began to take by force," she added.

"Such desperation. Petra, a brilliant young medic of the Legerdemayn family, was the second to submit to this new way of living, if you could call it that. They fell into that darkness easily, feeding like animals on those that stood in their way. And trust me," he nodded, "many stood in their way."

"So where does the myth come in?

"I think you've gathered by now that this was not a myth."

"I mean when did it become a story to tell children?" she corrected.

"The ministry sent out an order for their capture in 1910, but their ethereal bodies meant they were impossible to catch by hand, and so dementors were enlisted to assist the Ministry. The risk of Azkaban was too much of a threat; they evaded detection and went into hiding. It was an embarrassment, but no further deaths were heard of. Without the power they could gain from lives offered, it was presumed they too faded away to become the stuff of, well, nightmares."

Panic rose in Ginny's body, along with her due concern for Hermione's safety. "I saw one of them," she half-whispered, her throat tight.

Falandroit's smooth brow furrowed as he paused for thought. "Are you sure?"

She winced. "Yes, but I escaped."

He looked shocked. "Remarkable. But how did you -"

"It doesn't matter. Maybe luck… I don't even know anymore." A cold dread formed in her stomach as she checked her watch for the twentieth time since leaving Shell Cottage. At present it read: 'stoically perseverant'.

"They are wizards, first and foremost, and attack like we do, but the laying on of hands is where their power lies. To give and to take. You must not let them touch you. Remember that."

"What's important is that I know who has the book that they were summoned from, but I don't know where she is. I think they're following her. Maybe they think she is a candidate for their _service _or something. My girl..." Ginny swallowed hard, remembering that she no longer lay claim to the title of Hermione's lover. "It's my friend who has the book, and I need to find her."

* * *

"You're kidding." Ginny threw her arms up before checking for a second time.

"You can see for yourself, my dear," Falandroit assured, tapping at the paper. They had used Ginny's watch, a map and a charm to track down Hermione's current location.

Ginny kicked herself. "Of course she went there. I'm so ruddy stupid," she growled as she ran down the stairs and called over to Ernie. "I need to get back to Tinworth; please, it's a matter of life -"

"What do you think this is?" Joe Shunpike interrupted. "Your private limousine? Come off it, girly," he leered.

Ginny sneered as she looked him up and down, wanting to ping one of his protruding ears. "And what would your mum think about you extorting money from your fares, mm? I've got a pen on me somewhere." She patted her pockets. "I'll write her a note, shall I?"

His eye twitching, Joe dinged the bell three times before shouting: "Next stop: Tinworth."


	5. Chapter 5

**5th November 2000**

Hermione did not need to consult her watch; she could see that Ginny was nervous by the way she nibbled at her nails and repeatedly tucked stray locks of hair behind her ears. For the past few weeks Ginny had been distracted and secretive. Questions had gone unanswered. Dread crept into Hermione's bones as she watched the last slosh of tea pour from the spout. _Might this be the last occasion we have breakfast together as lovers? _she wondered.

"Will I see you tonight?" Ginny asked, setting the teapot down with a clatter and returning the lid to the marmalade jar.

_Is tonight the night you break up with me? _Hermione wondered, her throat constricting painfully. "No. Sorry. Can't. I have something I need to do."

"Are you okay?" Ginny leant in to cup Hermione's cheek, but the contact was evaded awkwardly. "You don't need to be worried. You can tell me anything."

Hermione's stomach felt heavy. She wanted to fight, but as yet had nothing to battle against. They had not even been arguing, but something felt strange between them. A void. A barrier. A river of uncertainty. And if there was one thing Hermione hated, it was being in the dark. Lately, she felt like she lived in a place of ignorance when it came to Ginny. "I don't even understand what's wrong." She frowned; the heavy beat of her heart was almost dizzying.

"Sweetheart." The hypocorism dropped effortlessly from Ginny's mouth. The look that joined it appeared equally genuine. "Please. You never talk about how you're feeling and - I don't want you to take this the wrong way - but it drives me insane sometimes. Let me in once in a while."

Hermione didn't want to lose Ginny, but she would rather bow out than play at being happy with someone whose desire had waned. The fear that she was not enough grew stronger each day. Was her deep passion for this woman merely average? Did there exist a level marker by which she could place herself? _If only._ "Where have you been running off to lately?" _And when does this end? Because I would rather skip there now than prolong the pain of constant negative expectation. _

Hermione knew herself to be a closed book when it came to emotion, preferring to stow away the badness that ate her up. Looking down, she realised that she had left her watch on Ginny's bedside table. _A sign perhaps? _She did not want to see something upon the clock's face that irked her as she worked. Lately the timepiece had repeatedly shown her indications of Ginny's superior excitement and clandestine actions. Such things only seemed to appear when they were apart, putting paid to any hope Hermione clung to that they would stay together. _Should I fall before I am pushed? _Hermione wondered, primly sipping her tea.

"Come round tonight and I'll tell you," Ginny urged, smoothing her hands across the table and trying to catch Hermione's eye.

"Sorry." No matter how strange the idea felt, no matter how torn she was by her own rationale, there would be no deterring her now. Standing, she tipped up Ginny's chin and placed a long, forlorn kiss upon her lips, not knowing whether it would mean goodbye. Ginny's eyelids fluttered shut as she revelled in the contact.

"Don't go," Ginny grumbled, trying to cling onto Hermione's hips, pulling her back playfully.

Hermione needed to know where her destiny lay. "I have to."

"Then try to come tonight. I don't care how late it gets," Ginny pled dolefully. "Come disturb me at midnight. One. Two. Anything. There's no such thing as too late when it comes to you. Please come."

"Once and for all, Ginny: it has to be a no." And there ended, it seemed, the last occasion they would have breakfast as lovers.

* * *

**23rd November 2000**

"_Expelliarmus_," Hermione cried again, slicing her wand through the foggy morning air as the blanket of light dissipated like a spent firework. It was odd that such a usually triumphant word should tickle in her ears and smack so distinctly of wrong. It had been so long since she had fought in battle. So long since she felt like everything was at stake. Old traumas rose to the surface and made her eyes squeeze shut and fingernails dig at her palms.

Striding confidently across the grass, Ginny deftly blocked Hermione's attempt to disarm. "Don't do this," she begged, her vision startled by a glimpse of the now rising sun on the horizon. "I'm only trying to help someone else at the same time as protecting you," she shouted, her flattened hand shading her view.

"This isn't the first time you've allowed the power of a book to overwhelm you, Ginny," Hermione screamed. She comforted herself with the tangled logic, but the accusal stirred up a hornet's nest that stung deep down low in her stomach.

Ginny was rendered speechless, motioning as if gasping for breath. "How could you! How could you say such an _awful, cruel_ thing?" she yelped back, weakened at the knees, her skin developing a cold sweat.

Hermione's mind was in turmoil. Pushing forward with trepidation, she found herself unable to command an attack. "I can't help but feel..." Doubt rolled around in her mind like a hot stone.

"What?" Ginny prompted, pacing backwards as Hermione approached, steadily moving further inland.

She shook her head with dismay. "Why do I eternally have the feeling that you're hiding something important from me?"

"How many times, Hermione? How many _bloody_ times do I have to keep telling you that I _haven't_ been lying?" Ginny looked up and begged the amber painted skies for patience, listening to the sound of waves crashing upon the shore and seagulls squawking.

"It doesn't just add up. Where have you been all this time? Why did you drug me?_" Why did you let me kiss you and then deny me the chance to do it again? _she added internally, rejection biting at her tongue. "Why did you come back?" Ginny lowered her wand and sighed, her head shaking. Hermione took a chance, shouting: "_Stupefy_" before closing her eyes and adding a quietly whispered: "_Latens_." The spell hovered momentarily, before spinning off in Ginny's direction.

Ginny had blocked with a protection spell, which Hermione knew would cease too soon. And so, like light flickering through water, the beam dispersed and refracted, trickling through the fading barrier. It hit Ginny squarely in the shoulder. The force knocked her onto her back, sending her wand spinning out of her hand. Were it not for the obstruction in her path, she might have landed safely. The back of her skull cracked sickeningly against a dead branch. Hermione froze, waiting for Ginny to leap up and retaliate.

Nothing. Just a limp body lain on the ground. A gust of wind blew harshly, whipping at Ginny's clothes and coat. Hermione watched uneasily, wand outstretched and eyes firmly focused on her target. Once again the breeze desperately pulled at Ginny's body as if an unearthly force was trying to animate her. "Oh God, no." Hermione's sense finally returned and she bounded forward, skidding down to her knees and scooping her hands under Ginny's shoulders. "What have I done?" Ginny's body radiated the cold, smelt of it even, and Hermione could taste it on her cheek as she whispered words of encouragement and anger. Momentarily flattening her chest against Ginny's to listen and feel for breath at her mouth, Hermione cried tears which fell upon pale lips. Ginny was breathing.

Swallowing away a bubble of tension from her throat, she lay Ginny down and drew out her wand from which she commanded a glowing swirl of light. "_Rennervate_," she demanded through gritted teeth. Bleary-eyed, she sat back on her heels as Ginny's weak frame rose from the ground, sparks of light sizzling as an additional spell dried her sodden clothes and skin. "Please. Come _on_." Time would tell. Lowered to the ground once again, Hermione clasped Ginny first by her cheeks and then by her shoulders pulling her close and rolling her hands through morning-lit, fiery hair. "Ginny," she begged, her throat strained. "Please wake up. _Please_." Gingerly, Ginny opened one eye and grinned. "You're okay?" Almost infuriated, she released her grip and Ginny fell hard against the grass.

"Ow," Ginny yelped, rubbing at her the back of her head. "Of course I am; you're not that good," she teased unnecessarily. Regret at her own foolishness showed instantly upon the realisation that she must have been unconscious and that her predicament had been far more serious than at first she presumed.

Hermione let her head drop with shame; she didn't want to look at Ginny, but she knew what she must do for her own good. "I'm sorry." With a flick of her wand, Hermione shackled Ginny to a large stone.

Ginny's face fell. "Why do these things keep happening to me?" She sat upright, her wrists now bound behind her back.

"Where have you put the book?" Hermione scowled.

Throwing her head back in distress, Ginny bashed it once more and winced. "Fine," she muttered reluctantly. "Whatever, I give in, Hermione. It's in my right pocket." She raised her hip. "If you won't let me do this, then you'll have to get the book to 3a Abbeysim Alley... to Maurice Prousan," she directed. "Are you listening? He knows what to do with it." Ignoring her request, Hermione leaned over her, driving her hand into Ginny's jeans pocket. Ginny's pelvic bone dug hard against her palm. Tugging at the bag's fabric, Hermione blushed as a warm breath at her neck brought an unwelcome low-down tingle. "And you have to do it fast because they... those creatures... they found you once, and they can find you again." A solemn expression masked Ginny's fear-stricken face as tears rose in her eyes. "But p-please reconsider."

"Why should I believe anything you say when you've come here to take this from under my nose?" Standing poised, Hermione examined the bag, trying to avoid Ginny's constant gaze. Satisfied, she pushed it into her own pocket. "Especially when you won't even tell me the truth behind how you got the book in the first place."

Ginny petulantly pushed her boot heels against the dirt underfoot. "Because I'm ashamed. Okay? I... I used the luck potion you gave me." She looked utterly disappointed in herself. "I promised that I never would, but I took the easy road. Happy now?"

"What luck potion?" Doubts in her rash, almost brutal actions were sinking in gradually, but Hermione was still convinced that Ginny was being controlled against her will. "I never gave you any luck potion, Ginny." She almost cooed the words in a patronising fashion. "What is this power that has taken you over? I want my Ginny back."

"You bloody well did send it to me and I _am_ your Ginny," she replied brusquely. "And it was you who left me; I never went anywhere!" Ginny's spine was beginning to seize, the ache almost overwhelming her ability to speak. Biting her lower lip, she held Hermione's attention. "Stop being so obstinate. Let me prove to you that I've done nothing wrong." Looking around, she spied her wand stuck in the mud some way off. "Check the spells I've cast."

Hermione chewed at the inside of her cheek. "Very well." She picked up the wand cautiously, cast _Prior Abundo Incantato_, and watched the smoke-like representation of previous spells. Hermione was certainly unable to spot any that were unusual or implied the drawing up of dark spirits. However, there were two that stood out. "Two curses, Ginny. _Two_."

"I can explain those if you give me half a chance. Besides... they're not exactly _dark magic; _look at them."

"Yes, well. This doesn't settle anything anyway. Not every spell or incantation requires a wand, you know."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ginny sniffed. "But something _still_ doesn't make sense. You _did_ give me a luck potion. Show me your spell history. Go back to at least the start of the month; that's about when you brewed it. The letter was magically sealed so that only I could open it. Find that spell. Please," requested Ginny in earnest. "If you don't want to prove it to me, prove it to yourself."

_A letter? _"I don't... I can't..."The request shocked Hermione, not least because she realised that she too held an irrational desire to retain the book. _Might I be the one under its power? _she considered, but immediately brushed away the presumption. "_Prior Abundo Incantato_."As the tip of her wand moved fluidly, row upon row of variegated symbols developed like a wall of hieroglyphics. "There. As you can see..." Hermione suddenly ceased the movement of her arm and squinted. "It can't be," she said, narrowing her eyes as yet another spell's emblem finished forming. "A memory charm. But I don't remember casting that on anyone." She shivered involuntarily.

Ginny gulped nervously, eyes wide. "If you cast on yourself, it is possible to wipe the memory of the actual cast itself, isn't it?"

"Yes, naturally, but I hope you're not implying -"

"It would make sense, Hermione," she responded firmly.

"I don't see why anyone would feel the need to do so... unless, perhaps, they've been through something... traumatic." Hermione drifted off for a moment, lost in thought. "No, it can't be. I can remember _everything_. I'm sure. Every day of work, weekends... going back, well, ages." Her eyes darted as her mind attempted to cogitate other possible realities. "It must be wrong. _Deletrius_."

Ginny was engaged in deep thought and chewing at her bottom lip. "When you saw me at the Ministry, you said something about not having seen me in ages," she commented after a minute of silence.

"Did I?" Hermione paced back and forth in front of Ginny. Through the corner of her vision she saw Ginny struggle against the restrictive binds that held her wrists. "Yes, yes I suppose I did," she conceded, trying not to let her heart win out before her head had everything in order.

"Exactly how long is _ages_?" Ginny asked. Hermione rolled her eyes and called her silly. "You've got me tied up like an animal; the _least_ you can do is humour me."

"Well, let's see." Hermione tapped her wand against her chin, flipping through her mental calendar. There could be no doubt in her mind. "I last saw you at George's birthday party, when you told me about moving to Wales. And not a day since."

"What? This is absurd!" Ginny chewed this over, with a panicked expression of doubt. "That was over _seven_ months ago," she responded incredulously, now even more desperate to free herself.

"I know. _Seven_ months! That can _certainly_ be classified as ages." Hermione crossed her arms confidently.

"_Hermione_," Ginny cried out with frustration. "I saw you just over a fortnight ago, and frequently prior to that. We... we... how did you forget all that we did together?" The enraged words wrenched from her throat and inflamed her cheeks. "Everything that we _were_ to each other? Didn't you think the message recording I sent you the other day was a bit bloody odd? I mean -"

"You're trying to confuse me! This doesn't make any sense." Hermione wafted away the suggestion.

"I'm not making this up! What _does_ makes sense is that you're really bloody good at memory charms. I mean... people block out events, but you've blocked out, well... _me_!" Ginny responded irately, shaking her head with contempt and disgust. "How could you have just wiped it all out like it meant nothing? Like _I_ meant nothing. How _could_ you?" she retaliated loudly.

"There must be a different explanation," Hermione responded, casting again in order to watch the symbolic representations appear. The spell had definitely been cast, as too had the letter lock charm. "Someone must have taken my wand and wiped my memory," she concluded, but deep down she knew the assumption was erroneous. "Maybe it was you." A hint of nervousness showed in her accusation. "That's why you let me see the spells cast by your wand." She didn't want to be guilty of this.

Ginny glared icily. "When do you remember me having a particular talent for memory charms? We spent all of year seven together, and you _know_ I never mastered it as perfectly well as you did. Certainly not seven _months_ well. Right now, what I really, _really_ want is for you to be able to remember it all. Honest to _Merlin_."

Resigning herself to guilt, Hermione's shoulders sank. "Why would I do that?" Her voice was weak, defeated. "What can have happened that was so bad that I needed to extinguish my memory of you?" She looked at Ginny, unable to bear the torture of holding Ginny against her will for much longer. "Did you... did you hurt me?"

"No!" she replied aghast. "I would _never_ intentionally hurt you. Let's just say, the last time I heard from you, you'd done something regrettable. That's all." Ginny screwed up her eyes. "Maybe you're not as good at memory charms as you thought; maybe you were just trying to erase the day and ended up wiping half a year's worth."

Despite seeming an unlikely suggestion, it was something Hermione was willing to believe, for now anyway. She looked up expectantly. "What happened? I need to know. What did I do that was regrettable?"

Concentrating on the rhythm of her breathing, emotion catching in her throat, Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. "Please don't ask me that. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this." Her lower lip quivered and throat bobbed. "All that matters," she sniffed, her chin crumpling, "is that you realised you didn't want to be with me anymore." Tears ran down her cheeks and wet her lips. "And... and you broke my heart."

_Broke her heart. _In a trancelike state, Hermione calmy commanded: "_Relashio_." The binding ropes evaporated. At once, Ginny curled over to hold her face in her hands. "I will be back in a moment," Hermione requested soullessly.

* * *

Having always made sure to carry at least a little muggle money, Hermione blankly searched in her loose change for a couple of twenty pence pieces. Stepping into the phone box, the door clunking behind her, she slid the coins into the payment slot and began to dial. She had got as far as pressing the numbers 6244 before remembering herself. Tutting, she dialled again, this time correctly. She tucked the receiver under her chin in order that she might put away her purse.

Someone at the other end picked up. "Hello?"

"It's -" Hermione paused, puzzled by the appearance of her left palm. Something was stuck to her hand.

"Hello? Hermione?" asked the familiar sweet voice.

"Mum, sorry, I got distracted." Cradling the phone receiver between her shoulder and cheek, Hermione peeled the item away and held it close to her line of sight for better examination. Still frowning, she asked: "May I ask you a question? It might sound silly."

"Of course, darling."

Hermione held the squashed clover leaf up to the light and remembered her nightmarish dream of a Tube train. "Who am I in a relationship with?" Her mother resisted, but Hermione persisted. "Please, Mum," she beseeched in an urgent whisper, remembering the time she wrote herself out of her parents' memories for their protection. She had the skill, of that she was sure.

"You're not in a relationship with anyone as far as I'm aware, poppet. Not at the moment anyway."

"Right, thank you." With a sigh, she began searching through her purse for more silver coins. Tucked into a slot at the back, she pulled out a London Underground ticket dated the 5th of November. _Remember, remember, the 5th of November. Gunpowder, treason and plot_. _I know of no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot, _she chanted in her head. The night, it would seem, had been obliterated from memory. "Do you know what I did on Bonfire Night this year?"

"Don't be silly, Hermione; you know very well what you did. You called me that night in tears; I could hardly forget."

_Unlike me who forgot everything and cleanly stepped away from the mindless debris of my acts, _thought Hermione_._ She felt dizzy and overwhelmed. "Mum..."

There was a hiss on the line, the sound of swallowing, then the sound of a mug hitting a coaster. "I can't say I wasn't disappointed, you know I was, but I also know I have to let you make your own mistakes and not harangue you into correcting them." She paused. "So have you repaired things with Ginny yet? Is that what you're calling about? You know we're absolutely fine if you want to get back together. You _do_ know that, don't you, darling? I know we were a little shell-shocked when you first told us, but let's face it, it was a breeze compared to the whole magic revelation. You're our baby and we just want you to be happy. So... have you gone with cap in hand to her, or do you have other plans?"

Hermione felt like she was having an out of body experience; it was almost like someone else had lived her life and even come out to her parents for her. So many disconcerting gaps. She thought back carefully. All she had left was work, sleep and the occasional night alone reading. _Why?_ _Why would I do that to myself? _Her vision became hazy, and so she grabbed onto the receiver cradle to steady herself. Flashes of memories involving Ginny crossed her mind, but she had no idea if they were real or fantasy. The pips sounded on the line. "Sorry. My money's running out." Yes, she could have spend another twenty pence, but she wasn't sure she was entirely prepared for own mother to describe in detail the tale of guilty acts just yet. "Love you, Mum. Send my love to Dad."

"Are you quite -" The money dropped through the machine and the line went dead.

All at once, the full reality hit home. It stole the breath from her lungs and the strength from her limbs. She had destroyed a relationship she had desired for countless years. There was nothing left and it could not be recovered. Shivering, her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor in disbelief, covering her mouth and screwing her eyes shut as tears fell. The telephone receiver dropped and swung to and fro beside her, the resonant drone of a disconnected line ringing in her ears.

"_Shit_, Hermione, what happened?" Ginny swung open the door and fell to her knees, cupping Hermione's face in her hands. "Are you okay?" She looked her over for damage, but there was nothing physical to be found.

A strong headache immediately set fire to Hermione's mind and cheeks. Her eyes grew wide as she shook her head. "How can you be calm? How can you still care when I've done what I've done? I tied you up for fuck's sake, Ginny. I didn't trust you. I failed you utterly and completely! You should _hate_ me," she seethed with self-loathing.

"_Sweetheart_." Ginny sighed raggedly, feeling teardrops wet her thumbs. Her forehead dropped against Hermione's. "I can't blame you for what you did; you thought I was being controlled by that stupid book," she iterated adamantly, pulling back to look directly into Hermione's eyes devotedly. "You weren't to know why I behaved like I did; that my recoil from you was based on fear and resentment."

Hermione's throat let out an involuntarily sob. "I am _so_ sorry that I hurt you. I don't deserve your forgiveness." With irritation, she hit the dangling receiver and it swayed again on its cord. This time, however, something was different. With an eerie slowness, it swung high but took a few seconds to swing back, disobeying the natural laws of gravity. The noise emanating from the listening piece became a drawn out, low-pitched grumble. Hermione tried to shift position, but her limbs were unwieldy, as if lead weights were tied at every articulated point.

"Hermione," Ginny uttered in a petrified whisper. "Wand. Telephone. Port key. Abbeysim Alley. Now."

Hermione looked through the murky panel at the burgeoning shape beyond, blinking away her tears. Sunlight streamed through the body of the Trader, now canvas thin; a shifting portrait painted on the cliffscape beyond. Dumbfounded, she cast, muttering the required commands. It wasn't simple, especially with Ginny's body so weighted against her own and her mind slowing. "I can't... do it."

"If anyone can, _you_ can," Ginny insisted with a fierceness, helping to hold Hermione's elbow up with all the strength she had left.

Advancing towards them, the Trader's achromatic, semi-transparent arm pulled up and jabbed at the air. Every pane of glass in the telephone box shattered, crumbling languidly to the floor, taking with it several calling cards that fell from above like feathers. One step closer. A sound, like a troop of soldiers storming across sodden ground, echoed loudly in their ears. And again. Their fate seemingly sealed, Ginny pulled her knees in, curling herself more fully against Hermione.

The spell was done, but nothing was happening. "I'm sorry," Hermione admitted sorrowfully, fearing it to be her last words. "For absolutely everything." Her eyes once more burgeoning with tears, she realised that she would rather die in here, in Ginny's arms, than anyone else in the world. Seconds remaining, Hermione made a decision, leaned in and kissed Ginny fully on the mouth.

With a visible spark, the telephone receiver began to glow blue.


	6. Chapter 6

**5th November 2000**

As the hands of the watch snapped together to dictate the time as midnight, the words: 'fairly tipsy' morphed into 'flagrantly adulterous'. Ginny stared in disbelief, pressing her fist firmly to her lips, through which an uneven breath escaped. Outside, a few fireworks exploded beyond a neighbouring house, sparkling majestically in the smoke-filled night sky. Her chest rose, but the air drawn into her lungs tasted like ice. The cold dread crept through her system and settled in her bones, forcing a shiver up her spine.

Deep down, she knew it was over. And so she waited. She waited to see Hermione walk along the cobbled street and tap at her door.

* * *

The semi-opaque potion bottle rolled free of the Ministry embossed envelope and dropped soundlessly into Ginny's palm. Toying with it, she watched the oozing liquid slump from end to end. With a tense stomach and jumping pulse, she glanced back to the letter and continued to read: 'I honestly presumed my concerns would be unfounded. Really. Truly. Sadly, they were not. I make mistakes when I'm with you: I lose my head; logic evades me; and I find myself distracted. I needed to know if we were meant to be, so I took the luck potion (enclosed so that it is out of my hands) and let fate guide my steps. Much as I feared, those steps did not lead to you. Ginny, I'm horrified to tell you that I kissed someone tonight.' Ginny's sinuses stung with pain, her hands visibly trembling from the torment of anger and frustration taking hold of her body.

Her vision blurred as her knees gave way; she stumbled to the window seat and took refuge there with her cheek pressed against the cold glass, as tears streamed down her face. Pages crumpling in her hand, she struggled to read on. 'I am thorough disgusted by my actions. Potion or no potion, I have been wicked to you.' Taking a long, deep breath of air into her shuddering lungs, Ginny pressed her lips together and felt herself buckle under the pressure of emotion. Sobs finally broke free from her throat. 'I cannot express to you how much I have adored our time with one another, but all good - no, wonderful - things come to an end. I wish that were not the case. You are magnificent. You are amazing. You are beautiful beyond words. You are astonishing. We are better apart. Let us break ties. Cease contact. Be happy. Move on. Please. I beg of you. Forget about me. H.'

But the bitterest part came with the last note added in small, perfectly formed script at the base of the tear-stained paper: 'I will always love you.'

* * *

**8th November 2000**

"Don't, Mum, please don't," urged Ginny. Mollifying Molly Weasley had never been the easiest of tasks.

"If she thinks she can hurt my girl like that." Mrs Weasley stood with fists on her hips, knuckles white with fury and curses upon her lips.

"It's not like that, honestly," she lied, knowing full well that she had been irreparably spliced in two by Hermione's actions. "I'm just not the right person for her. And I can't force her to think differently."

"Oh, Ginny." Mrs Weasley eased her military stance and drew Ginny into a stifling cuddle, suffocating her face in an ample bosom. "She'll come around."

"Just get over her. I did," came a familiar voice from behind them. They looked around to see Ron grimacing at the end of the kitchen table.

"Ronald, don't be so insensitive towards your sister."

"Ow," he uttered as a wooden spoon flew off the sideboard and batted him across the back of the head. "Mum," he moaned, irritably. Ambra, who was sitting behind him, tittered and covered her mouth, before reaching over to tenderly stroke the back of his head.

"He'll never learn if you cosset him, Ambra" said Mrs Weasley sagely.

"I'm not a dog, Mum," Ron protested.

"Just part crup," stated Ginny.

"Oi. You can talk, you -" he started to reply. "Ow."

This time Ambra had kicked him in the shin, "Shush. She's hurting, remember. You'd be upset if I cheated on you, wouldn't you?" she whispered. He cocked his head, looked hurt and nodded.

Sick to her stomach, Ginny flopped down in wooden chair and let her head drop towards the dinner table. "Ugh," she sighed as her forehead made contact with a dull knock. "I can't believe I was going to suggest that she and I move in together."

"You need to get away from everything," said Ambra, sagely.

"I haven't exactly been saving for a holiday." Ginny buried her head in her arms, her voice muffled.

Everyone appeared to be mulling the situation, when Ambra suddenly announced. "Oh? Oh! I know." She raised herself up in her seat. "Luna!" she exclaimed. Her elbow knocked over a salt cellar, her clumsiness reminding the family of a dear friend once lost. Ron discretely siphoned up the spillage with his wand before Ambra noticed.

Ginny looked up confused. "Luna what?"

"Luna and Rolf; I'm sure they'd be happy for you to join them on their expedition. It'd be a free trip at least," Ambra explained.

Ginny looked at her watch which was displaying the words: 'Perfectly content'. A shrug formed at the corner of her mouth. There had been no indication whatsoever that Hermione had been in distress since their very one-sided break up. It was as if Ginny had meant nothing to her. And that knowledge burned Ginny more than she could ever have imagined. "It might take my mind off things." She tilted her head in consideration. "All right. Yeah, why not? What have I got to lose?" She diverted her line of sight to the fire. _Nothing. Because I could hardly lose Hermione a second time, could I?_

* * *

**21st November 2000**

"Sorry. Sorry." Prousan skirted round the cloaked figure exiting the bookshop and stumbled in. Pacing swiftly up to the counter, he exhaled shakily and pulled off his gloves. "You..." he took a series of short breaths. "You found it? Yes?"

"Maurice, you look like you've seen the undead... again." Palimpsest stretched his arms and chuckled though a yawn, looking at Prousan with a warm expression. "Of course I found it, old friend." With a hard suck on his newly-lit pipe, he snapped his fingers and beckoned down a bibliograp. The creature listened intently, but failed to fly off. If anything, it appeared to shrug nonchalantly. Perturbed, Prousan listened to the crackle and scratch of the creature's voice as it whispered into Palimpsest's ear. The bookkeeper tugged on his beard thoughtfully. "It seems as though I _may_ have had a little nap for ten minutes or so," he admitted apologetically.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Prousan enquired petulantly.

"A young woman bought the book."

"What?"

"Bought... the... book," he enunciated.

"_What_?" Prousan screamed.

"All right. Don't have kittens. She's just left; you can catch her." Prousan skidded out of the exit with haste. "What's so special about it, anyway?" Palimpsest called after him. With a scratch of his head, he looked at the sickles strewn across the counter. "She's a fortunate one; I never have a kip during opening hours."

* * *

Despite Prousan's best efforts to follow Ginny through the streets, she somehow disappeared from view after greeting a friend. With slow, maudlin steps he made his way back to Diagon Alley and came to a stop outside Broomstix; one of the huge shops he had seen the woman rush into moments earlier. He looked through the bustle of patrons to a collection of parcels.

Through poorly-focusing eyes, he could just make out the same name he had heard earlier that day: Weasley. It would be a long night spent huddled in the brown paper wrapped around the varnished broom, but it was a price he would happily pay if it meant a chance to get the book and ultimately protect his son. In his transfigured form, he slipped easily through the cat flap, scampered across the shop floor and tucked himself neatly beneath the brush end, feeling strangely at home. Come morning, the broom - and his hedgehog self - would be delivered, he hoped, to exactly the place he needed to be.

And so he was.

* * *

**23rd November 2000**

Ginny and Hermione tumbled out of the portal, crashing down upon the cobbled street with a bone-jarring thump. The change of location instantly inspired euphoria. "_London_," Ginny sighed gratefully as a faint whiff of coal smoke filled her lungs. Spinning after them, the severed telephone receiver fell into Hermione's lap, still faintly glowing; she held it tight as Ginny pulled her to standing.

"Come on, we've got to be quick. You don't need to keep that," Ginny argued, her mind a blizzard of events as Hermione pulled out her drawstring bag. "Chuck it."

"If you know me at all, you know I'm not a vandal. I'll go back later and re-attach it," Hermione retaliated.

"The telephone box practically got obliterated. Are you going to put every teensy bit of glass back too?" Ginny asked, impatiently dragging Hermione along by the elbow and casting cautious looks over her shoulder. They had landed off course, but not by far.

"Fine. I'll dispatch a muggle clear-up operative later," Hermione huffed.

Ginny was trying to keep her head on straight, but there was still much to deal with. Her chest was fit to bursting with the desire to hold Hermione tight and talk through everything that was wrong between them, but other matters had to come first. They rounded the corner into the darkened street. Vapour rose from the gutters as the early morning light warmed the damp street. Quickly counting the houses down to 3, they found themselves outside Palimpsest's locked bookshop. To their surprise, Prousan's lodgings were directly above. "I am never ever taking a luck potion ever again; the coincidences freak me out too much," Ginny commented as they entered through the side door and ascended the stairs.

The door was ajar. Ginny immediately took out her wand, and held her left arm outstretched to prevent Hermione from advancing. "Maurice?" she said quietly. There came no reply. Perturbed by the silence, she peered around the door. Prousan was there: he was speaking animatedly, arms frantically gesturing at nothing. To the naked eye, he looked odd, like a partially exposed photograph. Ginny covered her mouth to stop an audibly hitching breath. She had been watching him through three Traders, their energy now so low that their bodies were merely a thinly painted wash, hanging in the air like disturbed muddy waters.

Prousan looked up and saw her. He began to speak more loudly. "Right. Right. My colleague will have returned to the shop by now. The book will be there." He covertly nodded at Ginny and she understood his intentions.

"Quickly," she whispered, "they're coming." Backing up she dragged a confused Hermione down the stairs, bounding out into the street. "_Alohomora_," she cast at the bookshop door. It didn't budge. "_Urg. _It's encrypted or something. I'll have to shatter it or boot it in."

"_Stop_." Hermione swooped in, but only to cast her own particular spell. "It was just double bolted from the inside." The door swung open freely and the bell rang out. She went to go in, but Ginny pulled her back.

"Let me have the book and you can go home. I don't want you to get hurt." Ginny licked her lips, her eyelashes fluttering widely. "One touch, Hermione, that's all it takes. One touch, you're gone and they're stronger." The thought of losing Hermione again cut her so deeply that she physically winced. Her grip tightened.

"Ginny, I got you into this mess and I _need_ to be the one to end it." In reaction to the ground level door to the flats above opening, Hermione grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her inside. They ran behind the counter for protection, huddling closely. "What do we do?" Hermione asked in a hushed breath. "We can't let them have the book."

"We don't have any choice. If we don't, Prousan's son will die. The Traders are getting weaker and weaker, you saw it. They were fading before, and now they're barely shadows."

"Then let them fade. Let them disappear from existence," Hermione insisted adamantly.

"But then Owen will _die_, Hermione. Please can you wrap your head around that?" She shook her head with dismay, trying to forgive Hermione for her ignorance considering she'd been unconscious for the most part. "Prousan traded his own life so that his son would survive. That's why he came to the cottage. That's why he drugged you and tried to steal the book from us."

"_What_? That man -" Hermione stood up aghast, but Ginny yanked her back down it her knees. The bell above the door had rung again. Both women could already feel the tiresome tug of weariness that swept over them as the Traders stepped in, an echo of footsteps tickling their ear drums. "You can't trust him, Ginny. He's already behaved irrationally."

"I'm sure we'll be able to find some willing participants at St Mungo's Hospital," Prousan announced like the owner of a cauldron dealership. Now, uhm, I'll just get the..." He moved behind the curtained area to look for Ginny. "We will have you shipshape in no time."

Hermione frowned deeply, holding Ginny by her coat. "We _can't_. You know we can't."

"But Owen will die," she repeated, clasping at Hermione's wrist and looking at her sternly. It pained her to acknowledge it, but deep down she shared the same dilemma. Tears rose to her eyes as she considered the damage that letting the Prousan have the book would do. He would become an ally to the Traders, all in the name of saving his son. He could destroy hundreds of lives before his own was over. "I don't think I can be responsible for Owen's death. I really can't, Hermione." Her strong facade slipped and she chewed upon her lip. "I don't know what to do."

Hermione tenderly swept her thumb across Ginny's cheek. "I understand. I really do," she whispered. "During the war we..." she trailed off, emotion constricting her words, "we all felt the sacrifices and have since borne the guilt of living, of loving, and being happy. Sometimes you have to commit a wrong to cause a right. It is the hardest thing in the world to accept. Let me take this burden from you. I'll do what has to be done. I'm willing to commit this wrong for the greater good." Her doleful expression made Ginny's heart clench with shameful joy. "Please let me," she begged insistently, running her hands tremulously down Ginny's arms.

Overcoming her internal conflict, Ginny closed her eyes momentarily and gave her consent, but as Hermione emptied the book out of the bag and onto the floor, they became overshadowed by a looming figure. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to go back on our plan, Miss Weasley." Prousan took out his wand. The book arced away from them like fish caught upon a line. They tried to stop its path, but the close presence of the Traders made it feel as though they were reaching through thick sand.

"Finally," he uttered with relief, as the book floated towards him.

Prousan's happiness was cut short as a loud cry of "_Confringo_" pierced the silence.

In slowed motion, Prousan was thrown back against one of the stacks. The edge of the blast caught the old button-press cash register, toppling it onto its side and bursting it open. One by one, coins spilt onto the floor, playing out a slow, cacophonous chiming tune. Hundreds of books flew effortlessly up towards a row of sleeping bibliograps that hung undisturbed in the rafters, then fell like a flock of migrating birds, gently flapping and travelling downwards at a snail's pace.

Ginny coughed through the thick dust cloud. "Hermione, are you okay. Was that you?" She reached out blindly, finding Hermione close by and flat on her back. The shop counter that had previously protected them was now far off in the corner.

"Yes, I am, and no it wasn't."

They struggled to get to their feet and extend their wands towards the source of the attack. "Owen?" asked Ginny, her vision still occluded.

"Sorry, didn't know you were there." The boy wiped his eyes and lowered his wand.

"They're right behind you. Be very careful," she warned him, unsure of how to attack such ethereal forms.

"Them? Those echoes of scary creatures?" He looked over his shoulder at the three faint outlines of the Traders. "I'm the only thing they have left. Isn't that right, you bunch of gits?" he turned to mock them, then swivelled back on his heel to direct his wand at his disorientated father. "One of you girls get the book and put it on that table over there," he commanded. With a nervous nod from Ginny, Hermione obliged, her footsteps seeming easier with every pace. "Now destroy it."

"But..." Hermione swallowed hard.

"I know what will happen. Please say you know how to do this." His hardened exterior dropped away for a moment as he looked at her hopefully. She replied that she did. "Thank you. Please do it now," he respectfully requested.

"_No_!" Prousan found his wand and scrambled to standing. "Do you really want your mother to have died for nothing?"

"Mum died because _you_ invited these _things_ into our home even though she warned you not to." He looked at his father with pity. "You can't do this. You can't sell other people's lives just to ensure I don't die."

Prousan began to weep, pacing forward and falling at his son's feet. "Please don't leave me."

"You'll be fine, Dad," Owen reassured sweetly, getting to his knees and hugging his father. "I'm ready."

Hermione picked up an upturned inkwell from the floor and placed it on the table. Rubbing her arms like a surgeon preparing for vital surgery, she suddenly looked hesitant. "Ginny, would you mind coming here and holding me while I do this? I can't stop shaking," she asked, looking at her trembling hands. Ginny smiled solemnly, stepped up behind her and slunk her arms around Hermione's waist.

Comforted, Hermione recited from memory an incantation from her studies during the night. She prayed it would work. Ginny pressed her cheek against Hermione's shoulder and watched Prousan comb his fingers through Owen's hair as if he were a child again. The Traders looked on, now only visible by the way light refracted through them, distorting images beyond like large blown glass figurines.

They were not long for this world, soon to disappear from existence once again along with the only book of spells that could revive them. Ginny breathed deeply, her chest swelling against Hermione's back. Looking up she watched as ink cascaded up from the book and poured itself into the inkwell with a reluctant gurgling noise. Before even three quarters of the pages had become blank, Owen's chest sagged as his body gave in to the illness that had long ago taken his life. Hermione bit down a gasp of horror as she continued to work.

Prousan cried against his son's shoulder, rocking him back and forth. One by one, the books that had been descending slowly from the rafters began to plummet around them, hard and heavy. Using herself as a physical shield to protect Hermione, Ginny drew out her wand and froze the books in mid air. A collection of bibliograps gleefully swooped around their heads to return each to the correct shelf. As the very last blot of ink leapt from the book and dived into the inkwell, the ethereal figures finally disappeared.

"Thank goodness," Ginny breathed, standing back to wipe tears across her cheeks with the heel of her palm.

"Ginny, do you have the duplicate book?" Hermione asked, a expression of unswerving duty thinning her lips. "I'll give it to the Ministry. I'll tell them that's all it ever was. A fake copy. No one will bother with it after that. No one will come again."

"It's upstairs. I'll fetch it -"

"No, it's fine. I'll go. You stay here." Hermione looked down at the inkwell in her hand; the murky blackness appeared to undulate and then settle. She sealed the lid tight, her body language implying that she wished to step forward and hug Ginny. Nevertheless, she did not. "Right." And so she scurried off, eyes burgeoning with tears.

Ginny looked down at Prousan and Owen. Her heart pounded with sorrow for the loss. Sinking down, she lay a hand on Prousan's shoulder. He looked at her, peeling away his flimsy spectacles from his ears and placing them to one side. "He really was braver than I ever was."

"You did what you had to do to save him. And he did what he needed to do to stop them. That's all you need it remember," she comforted him. "Don't blame yourself for that. It's over now."

Ginny stepped outside. The cold air hit her and she instantly burst into tears, the bottle of emotion now having fully burst. Tidal sobs drove up her throat as she considered everything that had happened. The foremost of which was that Hermione had not abandoned her; she had simply forgotten her. And somehow that made up for so much. She gathered herself and ran upstairs.

The duplicate book had gone, and so had Hermione.

* * *

Ginny swung the long strap of her bag over her head, swept her hair behind her ears and pressed the numbers on the dialling pad. Crossing her arms and rolling on her heels, she waited for the welcome witch to speak. However, there came no such announcement and the box failed to move. Feeling - for all intents and purposes - like a complete ninny standing in a dirty, broken telephone box, Ginny peeped through the glass at passers-by and quickly dialled 62442 again.

Yet again nothing. Filled with impatience, Ginny did something she had never done before; she picked up the telephone receiver and spoke into it. "Hello?" Silence. "I'd like to come in, please." There was a clunk and a hiss on the line before a female responded.

"Good day, Miss Ginevra Weasley. You shall not be admitted to the Ministry of Magic."

"I -" She coughed before the tinny voice continued.

"If, however, you feel that you have been unjustly denied entrance -"

"Yes!" Ginny attempted to interrupt.

"- and that you are not in fact Miss Ginevra Weasley but only assume her appearance by curse, potion or charm, then please press zero and a member of staff will ascend to assess your condition." There was a click and the line went dead.

"This _would_ have to be the one day Dad isn't in his office." Ginny hung up angrily, exited the telephone box, and slumped down to the floor with her back to the door. _What a mess_, she thought, looking up at the bright midday sun. She considered finding a way to floo in, but didn't fancy getting blasted back out of a fireplace. _This is stupid. Sooner or later she's got to stop shutting me out. _

Spotting a pigeon, she snapped her fingers in a beckoning motion and pulled out a biscuit from the packet in her coat pocket, crumbling it up for the feeble-looking creature. "I bet they wouldn't let you in either, would they?" she joked to the pigeon, who stared back at her with perplexed beady eyes.

About to get up and dust herself down, a small package hit her head. "Ow," she yelped. "What the -" Unwrapping the box, she laughed when she saw the earrings she had lent Ambra. Aetos landed with a thwump not long after and began keenly consuming the rest of the biscuit while the bemused pigeon looked on. "Hello again!" She was genuinely pleased, but swiftly remembered their encounter in the forest. "Have you been trying to get to me for that long?" He blinked slowly. "You owe me a favour, though. For the splinters alone." She fondly stroked the silly old bird's head and laughed. "I bet they'd let _you_ into the Ministry," she scoffed with a grin.

The note tied to the box was worded as follows: 'Ginny! You didn't come home, so I'm just going to assume you and Hermione are working things out. I'm so happy I could just jump over the moon. I've no idea where you are, so I'll just get Aetos to try every address I know. Anyway, my bolognese is burning. Lots of love. Ambra.'

A thought dawned on Ginny; it involved something that no sane person would consider unless on a dare, but then she had never been the type to turn down one of those. With a pop she disappeared and almost instantly returned with a broom slyly borrowed from the Burrow. Using her wand, she changed the name on the now empty package to that of Hermione Granger and clipped it to Aetos. The street was empty. Now was her chance.

"Right you, off you go." The bird looked distinctly unimpressed, wrinkling the feathers above his beak. "They'll give you better treats than that." She pointed to the pile of hobnob crumbs on the floor. "Promise." His head receded into his neck and, blinking several times, he considered the task. With a few flaps of his wings he was off. Ginny quickly buttoned her coat and tucked the broom between her knees. For safety, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself, kicked off and chased after the bird. "This is such a bad idea," she muttered to herself as she flew up through the clouds and directly into the darkened, verdigris-coated funnel atop the roof of the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

Eyes wide, Ginny looked for an end to her strangely twisty, sliding journey, and her broom - no longer under her - skidded down the tubular tunnel behind her. "Bums," she mouthed as she fell bottom first onto the hard surface, banging her head on the way out of the funnel and getting hit in the shoulder by her own broom. Woozily, she looked around, and then, disconcertingly, she found she was moving. The conveyor belt chugged its way around the room towards the engaged workers who were busily lobbing parcels into noisy suction vents.

Stealthily, Ginny held her broom above her head and let it hover. Grabbing on with both hands and letting it take her weight, she felt herself rise up enough to float off sideways. Aetos watched her from his position on the belt, holding one leg out to the side, quite unperturbed by his surroundings, but utterly confused by GInny's actions. Shoes mere inches from the floor, she dangled, gliding out of the room and into the corridor where she dropped gratefully to her feet. She knew the rules. Her unwanted presence would be noticed by the Ministry within time. She just hoped it would be long enough.

* * *

Dusting herself off, Ginny pressed her ear to the panelled wood. Much to her surprise, she heard her own voice. Listening more closely, she heard: "...entirely for what happened between us, but I don't. Gosh, I really don't." Opening the door carefully, she caught Hermione's astonished eyes as they darted up from the flower on her desk, the head of which dipped and rose again, before continuing to vocalise Ginny's recorded message. "If I'm not the one for you, then only you know that. I won't force the issue." It cleared its floral throat with a polite cough. "You know, when you first bought me this watch, I used to love when it told me that you were happy, but now… now it's bittersweet. I've checked it so many times today, and it's usually a variation on okay and content or daydreaming and hopeful. It means you made the right choice, doesn't it? That's a good thing. I still have your watch; you honestly wouldn't want to know what it says. But, regardless of my feelings, I want you to know that I would forgive you in a second if you needed me to."

The flower paused for a moment, the topmost petals pushing together as if frowning, inadvertently replicating the facial expression Ginny was currently pulling as she placed her bag on Hermione's desk and shrugged off Fleur's now feather-clung coat, which she quietly hung on the rack. Recalling her next words, Ginny looked away to the blazing fire for a few moments, hiding her face. "There is a house, with a view. It's near a valley. I was going to ask you to live there... with me." Hermione covered her mouth with shock and realisation, her cheeks still pink from an earlier bout of crying. "I know you'd love it. I think I've made the study just how you'd like it. I don't think I could bear to be there without you now, but it's yours if you want it. It was meant for you, and it would mean a lot to me if you made it your home. Who knows, maybe one day I could visit and we could talk like friends. I'll give you time, space, anything you need and maybe with a bit of work we could move beyond this whole messy affair. I still love you, Hermione." The flower sank into a resting position, deflated and dejected in posture. "I just want you to be happy," it uttered finally with a strained sigh. The message was over.

"If only I'd listened sooner..." Hermione held her throat and swallowed with difficulty. "I _hate_ what I did to you," she sneered with self-loathing.

Hate seemed like such a strong word, yet Ginny did not object to the use of it. She had once felt hate for Hermione, not for the betrayal, but for removing contact and demanding they never speak; that was the slap to the face that made Ginny wince even now. To not even apologise face to face, and to presume that Ginny would not have forgiven her in time. It made a mockery of her love; gave it no due respect. _That_ was the dagger in her heart that still stung sharply in her chest. Slowly, she moved around beside her and perched on the edge of the desk, the side of her lower leg knocking at Hermione's knee. "What's done is done; we can only move on."

"But I so much want to remember." Hermione looked up expectantly as the window's weather scene behind her abruptly changed to bright cloud-piercing sunshine. "Were we happy together?"

"Personally, I was the happiest I have ever been," Ginny exhaled with a shrug, blinking in the startling light. "I thought you... I don't know what I thought." She made fists with her hands. "I thought you felt the same." She had never had cause to believe they were anything but in love and content. Not, that is, until the last few days before Hermione broke the ties that had once bound them so tightly together.

"Had we... " Hermione's cheeks flushed. "Was our relationship physical?"

Ginny couldn't help but smirk at Hermione's awkwardness, but her stomach was clenching hard and her heart was sinking. She recalled the first time they had tentatively embarked upon such things and how it had resulted in desperately clinging, shaking embraces that even now shot sparks through her nervous system and threw the world out of focus. "We've been in a relationship since May; I _guarantee_ that we weren't a pair of married nuns."

"We were _married_?" Her eyes widened.

"No." Ginny couldn't help but laugh and roll her eyes. "But..." Her face fell. They had never really spoken of commitment, but it was always presumed. "I... I would have said yes in a second if you had ever asked me."

"And instead I betrayed you." Hermione looked down with dismay. "I'm assuming that I cheated on you?" Ginny bit the inside of her cheek and half nodded, unable to form a verbal answer. Hermione licked her lips and let out a slow, disappointed breath. "I've been trying to piece things together. I found a travel ticket for the fifth. And then there's this." On her palm was a three leaf clover.

Ginny shook her head. "Three leaf? But that wouldn't have -"

"There's a whole pouch of them in my filing cabinet." She looked at the shrivelled bit of greenery, poking it with her fingernail. "They must have been transfigured and the spell wore off. I've no recollection of buying them. I seem to have obliterated that memory too."

"You need to stop doing your weekly shop down Knockturn Alley. Mum always warned us that those sorts of ingredients don't always give you what you want," Ginny commented with a frown. "They work okay, but sometimes they don't work in your favour."

"Yes, I'm aware of that fact." Her shoulders sagged. "I can't believe I was so stupid."

_But that means... _"This watch," Ginny unclasped it from her wrist and placed it front of Hermione, hoping for a twinkle of recognition, "shows me how you're feeling every minute of every day. The day of our argument - all day - it was saying things like 'self doubting' and 'distinctly pessimistic'. Tell me if I'm wrong, but a potion like this created with transfigured or conjured parts will obey the subconscious down to the letter, ignoring conscious instructions and encouraging every little negative internalised desire to be played out."

"Yes, so the textbooks say."

"And if the person drinking it is feeling positive to the core then they'd be fine, but chances are - if they're resorting to luck potion in the first place - they're probably already in a bad way."

Hermione's brow crinkled. "I suppose that makes sense."

"My Great Uncle Gideon one tried brewing _Felix Felicis_ when he was a teenager; he didn't have much money so he turned a copper coin into gold threads and used those. Having not caught any fish in a few weeks, he took some of his luck potion and went to the lake. No matter how much he wished for a catch, one never came because he didn't believe deep down that any would. Nothing. That was until something at the back of his mind decided a massive sea creature had eaten all the fish and would probably eat him too."

"Oh no!" Hermione gasped, quite disconcerted.

"Yep. Rose up and swallowed him whole. Fortunately his next gut feeling was that the creature wouldn't be able to stomach him and so it threw him up onto the shore." Hermione grimaced at Ginny's description. "Actually the vomiting bit might've been added by Fred and George. Our family history was always a lot more gruesome when they told it." Ginny threw her hands down and rubbed at her sore knee distractedly. "Look. That night. You were so sad and lost. If you made the potion using one of those leaves, then it will have reacted to your hopelessness. It will have confirmed every worry that you shouldn't be with me."

Hermione pressed firmly at her forehead. "When I was out cold at the cottage, I had a nightmare - a variation on one I've had before - that I was on the Underground, in a Tube train. I'd been crying and my face was a hideous mascara-streaked mess. I was, oh, so very angry."

"What if you never meant to cheat on me? What if your subconscious just assumed you would, and luck made it happen?"

"Even if it is true, it can _never_ make up for the fact that I committed that misdeed. Don't make excuses for me," she replied bitterly, closing her eyes. "Bits are coming back slowly. I... I had misplaced my keys and so I... I came here, via the visitor's entrance." She tapped out the numbers 62442 on an imaginary keypad, lost in thought. She sat back in her chair; it creaked and made her look up suddenly. "I fell asleep here." She smoothed her hands over the chair's arms. "Something not right." She pointed at her desk suddenly. "There was something there," she looked up hopefully.

"Do you want me to tell you what it was?" Ginny offered, a warmth rising in her cheeks.

"No, I think I remember. Yes, I woke after a little while, not able to bear seeing it and put it..." Hermione pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and shifted a few folders to one side. She lifted the object carefully and turned it over. Raising her free hand to her mouth, she gulped back her shock. A tinge of strange jealousy graced her expression and a shiver ran through her body. She looked intently at the photograph. The figures moved together, one pressing a kiss behind the other's ear, evoking a silent giggle. "It's us." Hermione blinked a few times, before placing the photograph in the empty space between the other two frames on her desk, back in its rightful place.

"You loved me once."

"I will _always_ love you," Hermione said loudly, the fervent words escaping from her throat before she could consider them. She blinked, taken aback with the shock of her own admission. "I _will_," she added more succinctly.

Ginny felt a pleasant pain in her stomach throb and twist at Hermione's words. "But how can you say that when you can't remember our relationship?"

"Because I still have the memory of falling head over heels for you a long, long time ago." She stood up and held Ginny's hands. "And I can't imagine ever loving you more than I do now." Rubbing firm circles over her palms with her thumbs, she added: "Sometimes I am dumbstruck by this feeling of pure adoration, and I am horrified by the knowledge that I behaved so abominably towards you."

"Will all your memories come back?" Ginny asked, trying not to sound too hopeful or emotionally wrung out, despite feeling both.

"I would undo the spell if I could _remember_ the spell. And perhaps I will at some juncture. At present, I feel like those memories are all locked within a glass cabinet; retained for prosperity, but with highly limited access." She began to dip her fingertips beneath Ginny's sleeves and trace enticing lines across her wrists. "Besides, I'm not sure I deserve the happy ones."

Ginny felt goosebumps rise on her arms, her strong will buckling with each increasingly intimate touch. "You do. If I've learnt anything today, it's that you _must_ forgive yourself for bad decisions made with good intent."

"But it was an act of purely selfish intent, of that I'm sure." Hermione looked searchingly at her, as if the cabinet of memories resided solely behind Ginny's warm eyes. "I believed you were hiding something huge from me," she recalled with difficulty. "I... I thought you were going to leave me."

Ginny shook her head. "Sweetheart," she uttered, once again absently slipping back into old habits. "The only secret I had was the house. If only you'd confronted me, I'd have told you." Hermione looked crushed. "It was going to be a surprise. I was going to take you there that night because I was being impatient and couldn't wait until it was finished. I'm sorry I was so secretive. I never intended to instill paranoia in you." Suddenly remembering why she had come, Ginny reached over and opened up her bag. "I went back to the house earlier to pick something up. This -" she shook the item "- was the _real_ reason I took the luck potion that morning. I once made a promise to you, and I keep my promises. So while I still have time - and I'm guessing I've only got about two more minutes before someone realises I've snuck in here and comes to chuck me out on my ear - here you go. Hands out," she commanded.

The paper bag was placed onto Hermione's upturned palms. Running her fingers under the fold, Hermione opened it up and let the book slide out. Swallowing reflexively - almost unable to believe what lay in her possession - she stood quite still. "'Squibs Who Changed Muggle History'," she remarked incredulously, her eyes darting, glazed with appreciation. "Thank you. Thank you. My God. How did you know I wanted this? No, wait." She drew a circle on her left temple, almost as if to stir the memory back into place. "I think... a library. I dreamt... I so often daydreamed of a moment like that. Of a promise. Of you catching me. Of your arms around my waist. Of your kisses." She sighed softly. "Some days I could have sworn that I could feel your touch still upon me, purely from the strong, almost palpable sensations those imaginings inspired. So many times I fantasised about a life with you. It was so real." Hermione exhaled contemplatively, her eyelashes fluttering. "Oh god. It...it _was_ real, wasn't it?"

Against her own will, Ginny reached out and placed her hands upon Hermione's hips, but resisted tugging her closer. A shrug formed at the corner of her mouth. "Sounds like a memory spell cast when drunk on alcohol and messed up liquid luck doesn't quite do the job it should... even if it is cast by the cleverest person I have ever known."

"I took a young man's life today," she sighed with a shudder. "That doesn't feel so very clever."

Ginny shook her head and cleared her throat. "Owen's life had already come to an end; you just helped him slip away on his own terms. It was the honourable thing to do." Sliding off the desk, she stepped out of reach, fetched her coat and slipped it on. "I'm proud of you for that."

Hermione huffed dismissively, reluctant to let Ginny leave so easily. "I always make mistakes when it comes to you," she replied ruefully, her fingertips tapping at her mouth. "Why is that?"

"You only make mistakes because you want everything to be perfect. But there is no perfect. There's no such thing. You can't fix everything." Ginny looked down at the polished floorboards. Something occurred to her. She had to know. "One thing. What you said to me about the war - about how you felt guilty for surviving and living your life - did you mean that?"

Hermione blinked with surprise, moving closer. "Yes, absolutely."

More than anything else, this simple gesture of trust and truth had gone some way to repairing Ginny's heart. "Thank you." She watched Hermione tilt her head as a puzzled pout appeared upon her questioning lips. Ginny thought she had best explain. "It's just... you always used to tell me that you were fine; that you had no scars or crosses to bear. I can't tell you how much I wanted to hear even a single word of pain slip off your tongue instead of trying to fathom your state of mind from two words on a watch."

Hermione approached and plucked a fluffy white feather from Ginny's shoulder. "Then I am glad I finally admitted it." Forlornly, she trailed her fingers through the ends of Ginny's hair and followed up with a second confession: "I was so frightened of not having you in my life, that it always felt more logical to run away and make that fear come true under controlled circumstances of my own creation, than to stay and live with the expectation of losing you."

Fighting her instincts, Ginny remained calm and undeterred. No matter the words spoken, she was determined to hold onto the past as a lesson for the future. "And that's going to keep happening because you're still running, Hermione. Even today you ran, locked yourself up and threw away the key."

"And yet here you are again, challenging what I really want. Not letting me push you away. That means something."

"It's the last time." Ginny bit her lip, attempting not to let frustration mar the eloquence of her words. "I was so utterly broken when I lost you that I couldn't stand to be crushed again." Pinching at the bridge of her nose, she breathed deeply. "You can only push so many times before I fall away from you completely, so this time I say no and it's on my terms." Ginny ground her heel into the floor, moving to turn. A hand clutching at her forearm stopped her. "Hermione, you had me banned from the flaming Ministry; they're going to come and kick me out any moment," she replied urgently, trying to shake Hermione off. "I _have_ to go."

"Wait. Wait." She grabbed Ginny's other arm and swung her around. "Stop. Please. Stop. No one is coming. I lifted the ban as soon as I received the empty box through the new postal system." She pointed to a large copper pipe with an inbuilt hatch running from ceiling to floor. "I knew it was from you, you know. I've always loved the way you write my name." Hermione looked up and left, pondering something nostalgically, not aware that Ginny was silently cursing herself for hastiness and unnecessarily dangerous entrance. "I didn't know if the emptiness of the box was intended to be symbolic, was it? But the sight of your name crossed out had a profound effect on me. It reminded me how callous I had been, crossing you out of my life as if all you amounted to was a name. I couldn't do that to you again. I couldn't just let you be a smudge of ink, wiped away."

_But I am; I am a page irreparably torn from your life._ "There was no secret message or meaning intended. May I go yet?"

"I won't stop you, but let me say one more thing," Hermione requested under her breath. Ginny agreed with a shrug. "I thought I understood how to love. I didn't. Not until now. Not until these past two days." Holding Ginny's gaze, she exhaled raggedly and shook her head. "I would have offered my life for you, Ginny."

"You shouldn't -"

"And don't tell me I don't mean it because I am _deadly_ serious. As soon as I knew what danger we faced, I was prepared for the eventuality because you are _more_ than important to me; you are _everything_." Chancing a little contact, she pushed wider the sides of Ginny's coat, slipped her hands beneath the hem of her jumper and clutched at her sides. "I was ready. I still _am_ ready. And all I want in this world... is you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy." Stroking her fingertips over the cotton of Ginny's soft, loose shirt, Hermione looked down as the tide of emotion in her throat began to hold back her words. "Above all, I want you to feel those things when you're with me."

Ginny's heart began to pound behind her heaving breastbone, pumping blood through her veins at an exhaustive rate. She closed her eyes and tried to contend with the weight of her desire tipping vastly one way. In her mind's eye, she watched herself leave, seal the door, take the lift to the atrium, step into a fire and flee far away, returning to a life without Hermione. Hurt and love seemed to her to be such strange but inevitable bedfellows. One unable to exist without the other. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I can't do this."

* * *

Quite alone, Ginny lay on the cold hard window seat and watched the curtains flutter as the breeze blasted through the open window. She ran her fingertips over her cheeks, feeling the contours of her skin. There was a certain freedom in walking away, and she finally felt able to empathise with Hermione's past desire to separate, but denying herself the trauma and triumph of being with the one she loved felt completely hollow. She let her thumb brush over her eyelashes and tried to suppress the wave of nausea generated by grieving for a relationship twice deceased. Curling into a seated position to hold her stomach, she found herself reliving the numbness that had arisen in her on Bonfire Night, and, much as before, she wished hard for something, anything, to happen. In the distance, the faintest of taps echoing through the darkened street indicated a passer by. She listened as the sound grew louder and louder. Until it stopped.

Rubbing at the window with her sleeve to better see, Ginny dared a glimpse at the streetlight-bronzed cobbled street below. A figure. A very definite shadow. She froze, unable to move from her position. A blink and suddenly there was nothing to see. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself then found a way to relax. That was until: tap, tap, tap. _Is this really happening? Maybe it's Ambra and she's had a change of plans and has forgotten her keys. Yes, that'll be it. _But she knew it wasn't. She couldn't move, let alone unlock the door, and so concentrated on the moonlight that dappled patterns across the back of her hands. Time ticked on, and it seemed as though the courage would never come. Moments later, a piece of paper flapped through the letterbox. A rush of energy came and Ginny raced over, picked it up and turned it over. It read: 'Might we pretend it's the 5th of November again? Or am I far too late?' Out of habit, Ginny checked her watch. The slim minute hand currently bisected the words: 'deeply repentant'. Could there be such a thing as too late?

Ginny opened the door and let out a shuddering exhale at the sight before her. Shaded by the cold corridor's flickering gaslight, Hermione was sitting on the dusty wooden floor with her knees pressed to her chin, dabbing a handkerchief at her tear-stained cheeks and lightly sniffing. Despite being quite bereft, she got to her feet and looked at Ginny without blinking, begging for her written question to be answered. Not a word was exchanged, only a moment of wonder which passed silently between them. An ounce of hope flashed in Hermione's doleful eyes. Ginny rubbed at the side of her nose with her sleeve and swallowed a sudden sob. Licking her dry lips, she shook her head and made fists with her hands. Dejected, Hermione's shoulders sank.

"There's no such thing as too late," Ginny finally admitted. Firmly, she tugged at the belt of Hermione's trench coat, pulling her stumbling over the step and causing their bodies to crash pleasantly together. "Not when it comes it you." As a tear rolled down her cheek, Ginny fiercely pressed her lips against Hermione's, their mouths opening in submission to the kiss. Pulling Hermione further into the room, she kicked shut the door, gasping as vigorous presses and nudges acted as a clear supplication for more intense contact. "I missed you so much," she wept as she untied the belt, easing the coat from Hermione's shoulders and placing it to one side. They shuffled backwards until Ginny's bottom hit the steady surface of the dining table. With the help of Hermione's hands behind her hips, she shifted up onto it. Once settled, her hands delved into Hermione's hair as kisses were applied along the length of her neck, evoking faint whimpers.

Hermione began sliding her hands over Ginny's shoulders and back, seeking to re-learn the feel of her body. She shook her head mournfully and, quite unable to believe her good fortune, she sighed with a smile twitching at her lips,. Abruptly ceasing her frantic motion, she began sentimentally pulling at the hem of Ginny's jumper. "Oh my." She stopped, quite overcome.

"What? What is it? Are you okay?" Ginny asked, fingertips holding Hermione's jaw with both hands and running her thumbs tenderly over Hermione's chin.

"_I_ gave you this." She looked up with realisation, mouth agape. Ginny motioned for her to get it the point. Hermione shrugged and frowned, her expression torn. "Well, it's just... you look so utterly lovely in it," she smiled, her tearful eyes sparkling. "Completely ravishing."

"_Hermione_," Ginny scolded with half a giggle, a welcome shiver running up her back as she tugged the jumper over her head, causing her hair to fall messily about her shoulders. She reached out and pulled closer, so that Hermione's hips pushed snugly between her thighs. She felt the cold beneath her fingertips as she traced them over every patch of exposed skin. "You're freezing." She pulled Hermione into a crushing embrace, slowly rubbing up and down her spine and placing caring kisses across her cheeks.

"I don't care." Hermione was too focused and too overwhelmed to feel anything but the internal heat that would soon warm her body. Urgently, she reached behind her to pull at Ginny's behind, unwilling to dwell on the impracticality of their current position. Again and again Ginny kissed away the chill from Hermione's lips, and soon realised that the trembling beneath her hands was not due to the inclement weather. Their foreheads knocked together, as Ginny began unbuttoning Hermione's cardigan and the words: "I love you so much," slipped free from Hermione's throat. "I'm so sorry I hurt you," she struggled to say, her throat restricted.

"Well I'm sorry I didn't come to find you sooner." There would always be regrets, but somehow they didn't matter quite so much. Love encompassed everything they needed in order to once again find a home in one another's hearts, and to forgive past acts. "I broke my promise to not let you push me away because I was disappointed in you, but I _never_ stopped loving you." Ginny found her mouth captured in an impassioned kiss. She leaned into it, the heat in her abdomen swelling and rising, setting her skin aflame.

"Please help me bring my faded memories to life," Hermione begged through a hushed, desperate breath. "I have craved this moment for so long." She slid her hands under Ginny's shirt and over her bare sides, relishing the sensation of soft, smooth skin against her palms. "I didn't just obliterate you from my mind, I took away _every_ scrap of happiness I ever experienced with you; erroneously excising it as if that part of my life were a malignant tumour." She winced, choosing her words cautiously. "Could you bring yourself to want me that way again?

Ginny pressed her chin against Hermione's shoulder as she pulled aside the fabric of her top and proceeded to kiss her collar bone. Hermione's eyes closed and she whined at the pressure of Ginny's tongue against her skin. "I never stopped wanting you." Coming to her senses, Hermione exhaled rapidly and began tugging at the button on Ginny's jeans. "Bedroom?" Ginny asked, making up for lost time and once again sealing her mouth against Hermione's as she slid off the table and dragged Hermione's cardigan off her arms.

"No." She shook her head as Ginny sighed against her neck and drew circles on the small of her back. "No, I don't think so. You see... all the memories that return in flashes are like dreams, fantasies, or stories from a book; they have no way of coming to life." She began tickling the nape of Ginny's neck with one hand as the other unzipped her jeans. "I don't need this to be neat, or graceful or tender; I need it to be real. I need to feel you... properly. I need something new and fresh."

With understanding, Ginny reached behind her and found her wand on table. First locking the door, she then lit a fire in the grate. The warmth hit the room instantly, clashing with the cold night air that still forced its way in through the window. "Are you sure you're okay? You haven't had much sleep over the -"

"I'm fine." She cringed apologetically. "I fell asleep at my desk again, hence the lateness."

Ginny looked at her with a wistful smile. "My Hermione. I really have missed you _so_ much." Emotions swept over her once again as the earlier numbness completely dissipated and was replaced with a hot and heavy need to express herself through intimacy. The error in Hermione's ways was gradually lessening in its importance as a hand slipped beneath Ginny's waistband and fingertips made contact, pushing low. Sharp breaths fell from Ginny's lips as Hermione's new found confidence weakened her knees and blurred her vision with its definite actions. A full, deep kiss was pressed to her mouth as a hand cupped her breast. "So very much," she managed to say. But Ginny didn't want this to be one-sided and so she stopped Hermione's wrist and reluctantly slowed the motion. "C-come with me. I mean... Shit. I really didn't mean for that to sound like it did." Her pulse was slamming so hard that cogitative thought was inhibited. Hermione's eyes widened, as did her pupils. "Come _over here _with me. As much as I want to, I can't stay standing; my legs will go wobbly and give out."

Hermione looked concerned. "Are you sure you want this? If you're too tired -"

Holding Hermione's chin, she lay a languid kiss behind her ear. "This is just the effect you have on me. I want this. I want you," she whispered seductively.

As they stepped away from the table, Hermione made haste in pulling off Ginny's shirt and casting off her own. They stepped over to the large, throw-covered couch and shuffled off the last shreds of clothing. Clinging to each other, they revelled in the sensations that two naked bodies can bring with contact alone and clambered onto the couch, side by side. For a minute they lay quite still, each staring in admiration at the beauty of the other. As Ginny gently slid her thigh between Hermione's trembling knees, she placed a yearning kiss upon her lips. "Sorry," Hermione apologised for the shaking of her limbs. "I feel so unskilled. I blotted out any sort of frame of reference."

Ginny leant in and smiled against her neck, thinking back to their other first time, but back then Hermione had not been forthcoming in highlighting her insecurities; this revelation gave her infinite hope for their future. "Forget your fears and do what comes naturally." _Forget._ The irony was not lost on her.

More certainly, Hermione further intertwined their legs and felt the intense but delicate pressure drive a shock of sensation through her abdomen, kickstarting deeply internal instincts. They moved together, hands roaming, massaging and pushing. "Can you love me even though I'm imperfect?" she asked through a moan as eager lips met her throat.

"I love your imperfections. Try not to hide them from me," Ginny murmured hotly against her skin.

"Ginny, look at me." Ginny did as instructed and Hermione planted a brief, resolute kiss upon her mouth. "I promise."

They held a steady gaze so as to see the truth and ecstasy in both their bright eyes. Silent vows of honesty were conveyed between them that would be kept from that day on. Time passed, the fire's flames waned and the night grew darker. When at last, their heart-pounding bliss finally crashed towards an ultimate release and the juddering motion of their bodies softly settled into a peaceful embrace, upon their watches - one amongst the discarded clothing and the other kept in a drawer waiting for its owner's return - the words: 'entirely enraptured' were transposed simply by 'in love'.

And from that day onwards, that is all they ever read.


End file.
